


Exigency: Yield (3/3)

by thebasement_archivist, ZoeTakashi



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-06-03
Updated: 2002-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-20 04:56:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 48,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11329035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoeTakashi/pseuds/ZoeTakashi
Summary: Fresh out of the Academy, Agent Alex Krycek seduces A.D. Skinner.





	Exigency: Yield (3/3)

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

Exigency: Yield (3/3)

## Exigency: Yield (3/3)

#### by Zoe Takashi and Louise Wu

7:17 P.M. 

I am on my 900th anal retentive task of the day--contemplating how to rearrange the magazines so I can fit more books--when there's a knock at the door. 

Opening it, I find Walter holding bags full of food. If history repeats, enough to feed six people. I have food for two days after one of his visits. The take-out places nearby are probably starting to resent this relationship. 

I relieve him of one of the bags and follow him into the dining area. We dump everything on the table, then he wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me into his embrace. His lips brush across mine and he groans into my mouth, before pulling back to meet my eyes. "I had an intense day and I need a shower. Would you join me?" 

Walter wet and naked. This doesn't take advanced decision making skills. I smile at him. "Of course. Gladly." We stow the food in the fridge, then he leads the way down the hall, unfastening his tie. In the bathroom, he stops to kiss me again, as my hands reach to unbutton his shirt. 

I surrender to the invasion of his tongue while continuing to wrestle with his clothing. After a few seconds, my brain is short circuiting and I can barely manage to open his shirt. I stroke his chest, fingers tracing the contours of his muscles. As he lessens the intensity of the kiss, I murmur against his lips, "This is much better." 

His hands work on his belt. "Better than what?" Quickly, his pants fall to the floor, his cock plainly visible through the white cotton of his briefs. 

I slide my hands into his underwear, pushing them past his hips after carefully freeing his cock. I run my fingertips along his erection. My left arm isn't working as well as the right, and there are occasional twinges of pain, but it seems completely inconsequential. "Better than chasing you around the apartment." There's laughter in my voice. 

Hand at my chin, Walter tilts my face up so he can look at me. He's got a big grin on his face. "Now that I'm not so worried about hurting you, I'd be happy to chase your sexy ass." He reaches down and cups said ass through my jeans. 

Despite the humor, the reality of his desire suddenly hits me. And it's overwhelming. Only when his expression changes do I realize my expression went blank. I can see him starting to formulate a question. I wrap a hand around the back of his neck and pull his mouth to mine. I rub myself against him like an animal in heat. 

Deft fingers find my fly and he unbuttons it. He shifts the jeans down my hips, struggling to get them over my ass without letting go of me. Giving up, he starts working on the buttons of my shirt. His lips make a path up the side of my face and into my hair. I feel his heart pounding rapidly as I run a hand up his chest. 

Losing patience with the slow disrobing, I grab the edges of my shirt and pop the last few buttons, shrugging it off my shoulders. My jeans are now around my ankles so I kick them away. I wrap an arm around Walter's waist, letting my hand wander down to cup his too-sexy ass. Nibbling at his collarbone, I ask, "You sure you want to shower first?" 

"Uh-huh," he murmurs breathlessly, stepping out of the clothes pooled at his feet. His cock is fully hard. He tosses his shirt into the pile on the floor and opens the shower door. As he steps inside, he extends a hand to me. 

It takes me a few moments to get the water temperature right, because I'm distracted by his hands and mouth. We step under the water and continue kissing. As we grapple with each other's slick bodies under the shower spray, I remember the last shower. It was the most aggressive I've been with him--wanting to imprint myself on his memory, to have him think of me every time he takes a shower. But then... I got on my knees and got high on getting him off, on giving him pleasure. 

As his tongue explores my mouth, I know with complete certainty that I want it again. Want to give myself to him--want him to take his pleasure from me. 

Walter rubs up against me as he never has before, laughing gently into my ear. He seems freer somehow, more abandoned to the pleasure. I don't know where this came from, but I like it... a lot. I respond in kind, completely out of control, my mouth frantically working along his neck, collarbone and shoulder. 

His low growl echoes off the walls. Fingers trail down my spine and slip between my ass cheeks, roughly teasing my anus. I gasp and arch against his body, my knees going weak. The warm water glides down my body, finding an outlet between my buttocks. 

Walter murmurs, "You know I really meant to get clean, but somehow it doesn't seem pressing any more." 

I take deep breaths, trying to get myself together. It's been so long since I have felt those exquisite sensations coming from my ass. I think I could come just from him fingering my asshole. 

"Yeah," I whisper breathlessly. I push his hands away, trying to get my brain to function. "I... let me, Walter." I stroke his chest, my fingertips teasing across his nipples. "Just let me..." 

Oblivious to my words, Walter's frantic hands wander down my belly. One encircles my cock, the other cups my balls. 

Groaning, I thrust into his hand. His touch is sheer bliss and I'm close to coming. But, I want... 

I grasp his wrists and pull his hands away, whimpering at the loss of sensation. I slip to my knees, breathing hard, his cock a few inches from my lips. Placing my hands on his hips, I look up at him. Meeting his gaze, I remain still, not doing anything until he acknowledges what I'm asking for. 

Looking down at me pensively, his eyes seem to darken, and the corners of his lips turn up. He holds the moment for what seems like an eternity, apparently enjoying the sight of me on my knees, waiting for his command. When he finally opens his mouth, the words die in his throat. "Su..." Looking momentarily amused and chagrined, he clears his throat. "Suck me." 

Keeping eye contact, I move my head forward until my lips are almost touching his cock. I let my tongue slip out and circle the tip slowly. I watch his eyes as he watches me lick the head of his dick. His eyelids become heavy and he looks stoned. Teasing the slit, I gather the pre-cum on the tip of my tongue, then draw it back into my mouth, tasting him. My tongue slips out again, once more circling the head, savoring the texture of his skin, while I watch his reaction. 

Then I grip his hips firmly and take him down my throat. 

Walter sways a bit, reaching for my good shoulder for support. "Fuck, Alex," he manages to whisper. His hips thrust toward my face. 

I relax, keeping pressure on the underside of his dick, but letting him set the pace. Letting him take what he wants. I am unbearably hard. 

When he pulls back, I glance up again and find him watching me intently. He pushes back into my throat. I wonder what he's thinking about the sight of his cock thrusting in and out of my mouth. Just the mental picture makes my dick throb. 

His fingers caress my scalp as they seek something to hold onto. He gets a good grip on my hair, managing to avoid where the stitches were, and fucks my face. The desperate sounds of his breathing tell me he's about to come. My fingers caress his balls as I increase the pressure of my tongue. 

My hair is yanked suddenly as his body shudders and he ejaculates into my mouth. He gasps out what might have been an attempt at a word, but it's unintelligible. Hips still moving, he gradually slows down and pulls out. 

Walter leans against the wall of the shower, looking like he lacks the strength to keep his body erect. After a moment, he reaches ineffectually in my direction. 

I let my hand find his, and our fingers lace together. I lean my head against his hip and the fingers of his free hand play with my hair. The rational side of me tells me to get off my knees and finish the shower, but I need to clear my head. Something odd happened. It was like... being owned. And I don't want to think about it. I need a few minutes to get my mind to go somewhere else. 

"Thank you, Alex," he says solemnly. 

'You're welcome' seems wholly inadequate, so I say nothing. Pulling my hand away from his, I reach for the soap. I'm mindlessly caressing his legs with my soapy hands, trying to distract myself, when I realize the effect touching him is having on me. It makes my already rampant erection torturous. 

With a dazed smile, he moans, "Mmm," obviously enjoying my attentions. 

I start getting into touching him... stroking his skin, feeling the definition of his muscles. My left hand cannot do much, so I work with my right, slowly massaging my way up his legs. When I get to his hips, I reach around to knead the firm muscles of his ass while my lips and tongue play along his lower abdomen. 

His eyelids are still half closed, but he calmly allows me to do whatever I want, just relaxing and letting it happen. It's unlike our previous encounters... makes me wonder what changed. 

After applying more soap to my hands, I stroke his balls and caress the length of his cock. Then my hand is back on his ass, sliding between the muscular cheeks and massaging gently around his anus. 

His hips thrust slowly, responding to my teasing touch. 

When I cannot reach anything else, I pull back and mindlessly gesture for him to turn around. It belatedly occurs to me that I should say something, but he gets it and turns, leaning against the wall. 

Grabbing the soap, I stand and start on his back, running my hands in long strokes over the expanse of flesh. Next his arms, while my lips tease the back of his neck. 

"Fuck, Alex, you're turning me into a senseless blob." 

"Mm hm." I indicate for him to turn around again and sigh with pleasure as my hands glide over his broad chest. My cock is still painfully hard, but the demand is distant... muted by my desire to touch him. I want him so badly... The depth of the need scares me. 

Walter's expression is a dreamy smile. His fingertips find the side of my face, just brushing my cheek. The tenderness of the gesture unnerves me, but my face turns toward his hand, rubbing against his fingers. I break the touch by sliding my right hand up the side of his face to his head. I cannot lift my left arm that far, so I give him a one-handed head massage. 

He grabs my cock and squeezes gently. "We have to do something about this, Alex." 

My breath comes out as a hiss and I grip his shoulder. The sensation of his hand on my over-sensitive cock makes my legs wobbly. 

* * *

I arrived at Alex's very keyed up from a difficult day, but he took care of that problem. Very effectively. As my mind clears away the post-orgasmic haze, I am surprised to find myself still standing. Pulling him close to me, I murmur, "I think I'm clean... among other things. Let's take this to the bedroom, Alex." 

Our last sexual encounter was fraught with difficulty, so I'm eager to show him a good time. 

We step out of the shower. Before I can get my hands on a towel, he has one ready and begins drying me. He stands behind me, dries my head, then passes the towel across my shoulders. As it travels down my back, I feel his lips and tongue at the nape of my neck. 

Alex indulges me relentlessly... likes to wait on me. And I can't bring myself to object. Too selfish. And, if I am honest with myself, I can admit I need his attention, his devotion. It feels like a transfusion of something very alive and essential. I crave him. And his unexpected and intensely pleasurable ministrations. 

His mouth follows the path of the towel until I feel the nip of his teeth on my right ass cheek, and I realize he must be on his knees again. 

I suspect he doesn't even recognize how submissive he becomes with me. But it's so intensely real and beautiful. It peeks out from under his carefully constructed faade and offers an extraordinary view of what's inside him. 

Alex reaches around, slowly drying the front of my legs, while his mouth continues to tease the flesh of my ass. He dries my groin and his hand encircles my cock, stroking several times before he moves to my balls, cupping and rolling them. As unlikely as it seems, my cock twitches in response and begins to become erect. 

Suddenly, the towel is on the floor and I feel my ass cheeks pulled apart. His tongue flicks across my anus. My palms slam against the wall over the towel rack to keep myself upright. I have to remind myself that my body is flesh and blood. Substantial. Because it feels like I'm about to float away into nonexistence. 

On the other hand, my cock is quite substantial... rapidly filling out. I shiver under his tongue, from the tingly wet feel of him licking my ass. 

I want to fuck him. 

The rasp of his tongue across the sensitive flesh ceases as he begins to press it into me. He works his tongue into my ass, his hands trembling against my ass cheeks. The breathless sounds he makes tell me how much this turns him on. 

With great reluctance, I shift my body out of his grasp. His fingers tighten on my butt, and he groans a protest. Turning around, I stroke his hair. "I want to fuck you." 

Alex's breathing is rapid and his eyes glitter. He looks at me for a moment, then slowly rises to his feet. 

My mind calculates positions again, but I keep it to myself this time. "Stay here." In the bedroom, I retrieve a pillow, a bottle of lube and a condom. I toss the pillow over the hard surface of the countertop next to the sink. Watching his deep green eyes as I roll on the condom, I see a now-familiar hungry look. I've always attributed that to his sexual needs but, for the first time, it occurs to me that it's me he wants. 

He steps closer, one hand fondling my balls as his mouth plays with my earlobe. With a last lingering caress across my chest, he turns to the counter and bends over. Balancing on his good arm, he situates his legs far apart and pushes his hips back. 

I stop breathing. Watching him bend over and spread his legs for me, because he wants me to fuck him... It turns me on so badly my balls ache. 

My mind flashes on the first time in my garage. A horny boy wanting to get fucked... a married man trying to rediscover his lost sexuality... we both used each other that day. But now, it's about Walter wanting Alex, and vice versa. 

Regulating my breathing, I stand behind him, so my thighs are touching the backs of his. He pushes toward me, rubbing his body against mine. I can see us in the mirror, but his head is down, so I cannot see his face. 

My hands glide down his lean back, tracing the lines of his muscles, the bumps of his spine. He arches into the touch. I massage his neck and his right shoulder, giving his left only a gentle caress. 

He sighs with pleasure but his body movements are restless and impatient. Poor boy wants to get fucked, but I don't want to rush. I slide the fingers of one hand into his hair, massaging the side of his head. His shoulders and upper body relax as his head drops. My other hand moves downward, stroking his flank, hip and upper thigh. Reaching between his legs, I cup his heavy balls, squeezing just hard enough to get his attention. 

A hiss of breath turns into a gasp as his hips jerk in response. Then he moans and presses himself against my hand, asking for more. 

Oh, he likes that. 

I get a firm grip on his balls and close my fingers around them, alternating light pressure with a more intense squeeze. He groans and, taking his weight off his arm, flattens his torso on the counter. A choked whimper accompanies the next squeeze. 

Releasing his hair, I apply both hands to his firm, round ass. One teasing finger slides into his crack and brushes across his anus. He gasps and his shoulders tremble. His legs slip a little further apart even as the muscles in his lower back flex, pushing his ass up. 

He's given me so much pleasure. Eager to return the favor, I bend down, holding the globes of his ass open, and swipe my tongue across his anus. I've never done it before. The crinkly skin amuses my tongue. 

There's a choked sound from him and the flesh under my hands trembles. "Jesus, Walter... I, uh... fuck." 

My nose lodged in his crack, I smile into his ass and work my tongue feverishly against the sensitive opening. I'm completely happy in the moment, enjoying the pitiful sounds he's making. Taking a breather, I ask, "It feels damned good, doesn't it?" 

He gasps out, "Fuck... Walter... yes!" 

After dragging my tongue across one more time, I kiss a path up his tailbone. I pop the cap on the lube and warm it in my fingers before I push one into him. He's a bit tighter than usual, so I take my time, fucking him on a single finger, before I push two inside. I coax his rectum open, exploring the hot inner surfaces with my fingers. 

Alex groans and hisses, "Yes." I can see him fighting the urge to move by the tension vibrating in his muscles. "Walter, please... fuck me." His voice is husky and uneven. 

It's oddly satisfying just doing him with my fingers. I can feel Alex's body relax in waves, as he adjusts to the intrusion. When I push a third finger into him, he takes a startled breath and a shudder passes through his body. With a deep breath, he relaxes again, then becomes boneless, just lying on the counter, opening up for me. 

And suddenly I need to be inside him. What was I thinking drawing this out? 

Withdrawing hastily, I squirt lube onto my cock and push the head of it through his sphincter. There's a muted sound of pleasure from him. I pause, reminding myself to breathe, before burying myself deep inside him. 

He stays still, but his rapid breathing, gasps and moans betray his arousal. Then he starts working his ass muscles around my cock. Squeezing and releasing. 

Alex is hot and tight inside. Seeing his body laid out for me, impaled on my cock, taking whatever I give... it's so intense. In the mirror, I see a very aroused older man taking what Alex has offered so passionately. As I start to thrust inside him, my awareness dims and I am lost in the simple, animal act of fucking. 

There are sounds in the room... grunting, labored breathing. His? Mine? 

Although I am fucking him slowly, I feel the telltale trembling in his legs indicating he's close to coming. I grab a handful of hair and lift his head. "Look at yourself," I mutter breathlessly. 

His eyes are unfocused but bright with passion and surrender. Mouth open, lips wet, cheeks flushed. It's the first time I've clearly seen the submission show on his face. In this moment, he has completely yielded to me. 

"See how beautiful you are?" 

Alex struggles to focus on the image in the mirror, but then his gaze flicks to me and he moans. His eyes trace the image in the mirror, whimpering when he reaches the point where he sees me taking his ass. 

Releasing his hair, I lower my hand to his cock. The satiny, hard-but-soft feel of it makes me moan. I love touching this boy. The man in the mirror is telling the boy who he belongs to... words I could never say, but the expression of those feelings through the physical act is incredibly arousing. 

He gasps, pushing hard into my hand and clamping his internal muscles on my cock. "Walter..." His voice sounds like half plea, half warning. Head still held up awkwardly, his green eyes meet mine through the mirror. This time I am positive he's asking me for permission to come. That it is mine to grant or deny. 

Picking up the pace, I fuck him harder. My eyes flick to the sight of my cock forcing its way into his ass. 

I feel subtle shifts in his body and he opens himself up more, arching up and pushing back against me, meeting every thrust. He continues to watch me in the mirror, his breathing choppy and labored. "Walter... please." 

The edge of need in his raspy voice pierces me and seems to vibrate in my body. Only a few seconds away from coming myself, I stroke his cock, rubbing my thumb on the tender underside. As I open my mouth to tell him to come, I begin to orgasm and my lips won't work. The word I scream out sounds incomprehensible to my own ears. Losing control of my hips, I'm almost helpless as I continue to pound into him. 

Blinking, I collapse on his back, dimly aware that my hand is still on his erection, but unable to issue the command to my fingers to stroke him. I see Alex staring in the mirror transfixed. His eyes are wide and his lower lip is caught between his teeth. His ass is tightening and relaxing subtly, milking my cock. 

I emit a long, low groan. My sexy lover has still not come. He pushes himself up, still watching me in the mirror. I step back just enough to pull out of him. He gasps and shudders. I drop the condom in the trash can as he begins to turn toward me, murmuring breathlessly, "That was the most amazing thing I've ever..." He cuts himself off on a whimper as his hard, dripping cock comes into contact with my body. His eyes widen with shock and his arm clamps around my shoulder. "Walter, I... oh fuck..." 

Alex grinds his cock against me, head thrown back, he moans out my name as his body jerks uncontrollably in my arms. I can't hold back my delighted laughter as I hold him tightly with one arm at his waist. As his body stills, he disintegrates, face in the curve of my neck. I nuzzle his hair with my nose, still chuckling softly. 

The boneless lump in my arms mutters, "Bastard." 

Fifteen minutes later, after cleaning up again, two exhausted and contented men are in the dining area eating lobster and fish chowder. 

Alex, as usual, doesn't seem to notice he's undressed. He is happily sucking pieces of buttered lobster off his fingers while sitting naked at the dining room table. I opted to put on my pants. 

He sucks the butter off a piece of lobster, dips it in the butter again, then continues sucking on it. "I'm glad you came over, Walter." 

"Yeah, me, too," I reply enthusiastically, albeit stupidly. Reaching across the table with my napkin, I wipe the butter off his lower lip. He raises his eyebrows, then sucks another butter covered piece into his mouth, smearing butter over his lower lip again. 

Alex stands and leans over me. "There's a better way to get rid of it," he murmurs just before his lips close over mine. 

He's so right. If I hadn't just fucked myself into oblivion I would have realized. My tongue laps at his lips and we share a buttery kiss. 

When we return to the food, I ask something I've been wondering about. "Are you gay, Alex? Or bisexual?" 

He looks briefly surprised. "My sexuality seems to be coming up a lot today." He grins. "Uh, no pun intended." After considering for a moment, he replies, "Gay, I guess. I've had sex with women, but I usually prefer men." He shrugs. "I haven't really thought about it." 

"Who else has been asking about your sexuality?" 

He takes a drink of tea and smiles. The kind of smile that does not bode well. "Dr. Touchy Feely." 

"Oh." I scoop up the last of my fish chowder before continuing, "I have almost 300 agents in the division and I think three of them have gone to the psychiatrist voluntarily. She go easy on you?" 

Alex nearly chokes on his tea, then starts to laugh. "No. I infinitely prefer your brand of 'touchy feely,' thank you." 

As if to emphasize the point, he rises and stands next to me. I turn to face him and he straddles my lap, reaching to the table for a piece of lobster. He holds it up to me and I take the bite from his fingers. He licks his fingertips suggestively, then leans down to nibble the side of my neck. 

Wrapping my arm around his shoulder, I pull him close and enjoy the tingling sensation left by his teeth. 

Alex moves his head to lavish attention on the other side of my neck. Suddenly, he stills and mutters, "Oh shit." He pulls back, frowning. 

"What?" 

"I... In the shower, I must have... Shit. Walter, there's a mark on your neck." 

"Really?" I feed him a piece of lobster, running my buttery finger along his lower lip. 

"Really." He sucks the butter-covered finger into his mouth, cleaning it with his tongue. 

An hour and a half later, I'm home getting ready for bed. Brushing my teeth in front of the mirror, I remember what happened earlier. It's enough to make my poor overused cock twitch. And then I notice the mark... a bean-shaped, red chafe on the side of my neck. It'll be easily concealed under my shirt collar. But it makes me smile. 

* * *

Washington, D.C.  
Thursday, 14 July 1994  
11:02 A.M. 

Mulder's unwanted case turned out to be the weirdest of my career. There just aren't any Bureau protocols for dealing with non-human homicide suspects. I suppose if it were a bear or something, we'd relocate it to a more appropriate habitat. But what do you do with a 150 pound fluke-worm-man? It's well beyond my imagination. 

This is exactly why we need the X-Files. And agents like Mulder and Scully to investigate them. 

Wonder what the Director would do to me if I reopened the X-Files unilaterally... Probably put me on wiretap duty. Permanently. 

There's a report on my desk I've been avoiding all morning. It feels like an invasion of his privacy but, in my official capacity, I have to read it. I'll be asked about it by Mathis and possibly the Director. 

\--  
Preliminary Incident Report on Agent Alex Krycek July 12, 1994  
Dr. Mary Anne Reed 

After one interview with Agent Alex Krycek, I noted the following: 

Agent Krycek exhibits classic symptoms of dissociative disorder. He demonstrates inappropriate affect with regard to the attack of Ian Roberts on June 27th of this year, denying having any feeling about, or effect from the incident. 

Additionally, he has no support structure. His parents died when he was in his late teens and he has no other living relatives. No close friends and no current significant other. Agent Krycek was blas, about his lack of family, which I found to be consistent with the underlying diagnosis of dissociative disorder. 

Usually, dissociation of this degree is related to severe abuse during early childhood, or war-time military service, but Agent Krycek has not been in the military and denies an abusive upbringing. He exhibits no other symptoms of abuse. It's possible, in this case, that the dissociation is related to the death of his parents at age 18, his only living family. 

I do not find any emotional trauma caused by the assault. Nor did I find anything not previously mentioned in his existing psychological profile. 

In general, a dissociative disorder of this nature would preclude return to active duty, but I find nothing changed from Agent Krycek's original psychological profile, prepared by Dr. Moreno at the time of his entrance into the academy. Since Dr. Moreno judged him fit for duty, and is the best authority on this subject, I see no reason to disagree. I recommend that Agent Krycek be allowed to return to his position as soon as he obtains a written release from his medical doctor, contingent on the results of our second meeting. 

Mary Ann Reed, Ph.D.  
\-- 

His x-rays back up her suspicions about child abuse. It pains me to consider that possibility. I won't invade his privacy by inquiring. It's none of my business. Still, it hurts to think about anyone harming him. 

It also pushes my buttons. Surely he's not giving himself to me the way he does to act out anything from his past? I can't begin to answer questions like that. If I weren't his superior, I wouldn't have any of this information. 

I force away the nagging doubts. Our relationship, even our rough sex, feels like it's affectionate and caring, not anything else. I guess that's all that matters. 

My own psych profile probably doesn't read any better. If the shrinks got their way all the time, a bunch of Sunday school teachers would be manning the Bureau. 

* * *

Falls Church, VA  
Friday, 15 July 1994  
7:43 P.M. 

A sharp rap at the door drags my attention away from my book. I drop the pen and look at the clock, startled to find I've been translating for nearly four hours. That must be Walter. I feel a little pump of adrenaline hit my system and push the pile of papers and books to the middle of the sofa. He said he would be able to stay the whole night. Who would have thought I could ever feel so enthusiastic about that? 

I open the door to find a very cross looking Walter Skinner, holding a paper bag and two covered aluminum trays. From the smell, it's Italian tonight. 

"Hi." Taking the bag, I gesture for him to enter. He's still in work clothes, tie askew and top two buttons undone. And he looks cranky, eyes squinting as if he has a headache. Wonder what happened today? 

"I'm sorry I'm late," he says in a gruff voice, preceding me into the dining area. 

I decide to let him alone to work out his mood. In the kitchen, I find the bag contains tea and a bottle of J&B. My eyebrows aim for my hairline. Okay. I guess Walter likes Scotch when he's upset. 

It takes a minute to find a glass, which I fill half full and take to the table. He's laying out the food, a pan of lasagna, garlic bread and salad. Taking the glass from my hands, he nods at me. "Thanks." 

"Mm hm. Here, give me your coat." He shrugs out of it and I take his tie, too. 

After he takes his place at the table, he massages the ridge of his brow and looks up at me. His foot twitches against the table leg. 

I look at him for a second but say nothing. He is obviously in a bad mood. What to do? Since conversation is not my forte, I'll try something a little more tactile. I step behind his chair and tip his head back until it's resting against my stomach, then massage his scalp and forehead. 

He doesn't exactly relax, but his breathing slows down. "Thank you, Alex." 

Some strange impulse prompts me to drop a kiss on his head before I step away. This is getting weird. "Are you ready to eat?" 

He nods, reaching for the pan of lasagna, and I suggest, "Let's eat in the living room." 

Walter looks faintly annoyed, but he shrugs. And manages to splatter red sauce on his pants. His eyes flicker closed for a moment, before he spoons the entree onto his plate. Adding salad and a wedge of garlic bread, he grabs a napkin and carries everything into the living room. 

I wouldn't dream of letting it show, but I'm somewhat amused by his peevishness. I'm certainly curious about what's bothering him, but it does not seem like he's in the right frame of mind to discuss it yet. 

He forgot his Scotch. I follow him with it and hand it to him just as he begins to rise--presumably to retrieve it. He mumbles, "Thanks," and sits down again. 

After preparing my food, I join him. Setting down my plate, I grab the pile of books and papers and move them to the floor. Before sitting, I squat to remove Walter's shoes and socks. 

Several minutes pass in silence before I ask, "What happened?" 

Walter frowns at his plate. "The expressway was a parking lot. A hooker's car stalled and half the men in D.C. stopped to help." 

I look over at him disbelievingly. I keep my voice soft and reply, "Any chance you'll tell me what's actually bothering you?" 

Walter takes a big bite of garlic bread and chews it carefully before replying, "I spent half the afternoon dealing with legal and the Office of Personnel Management..." He trails off and eats his lasagna. "One of my direct reports had an affair with a subordinate." With a pained expression on his face, he attacks his salad. 

I immediately envision myself having an affair with Mathis. And the idea is so absurd I barely manage to contain my laughter. I bite my lips, struggling for calm. Well, at least I know what's bothering him. 

When I'm convinced I'm not going to laugh outright, I carefully reply, "If legal was involved, there must have been some kind of charge. Was either party sexually harassed?" 

He gives me a puzzled look. "The complainant has a fairly good case." Shrugging, he adds, "I've seen worse." 

"Who was harassed, the subordinate or the manager?" 

Now he looks baffled. "The subordinate, of course," he replies a bit testily. 

I look at him speculatively. "Why 'of course?'" 

"The manager's always at fault, Alex." 

"Really? Couldn't an employee blackmail a manager into having sex? Wouldn't that be the technical definition of sexual harassment?" 

Blinking, he replies, "It's theoretically possible, but 90 percent of the sexual harassment cases at the Bureau involve a manager pressuring a subordinate for sex, or a consensual sexual liaison, which after the fact is purported to be the reason for a hiring, firing or promotion decision." 

"Okay. Ninety percent of the cases? 'Cases' implies something reported, so it seems that a subordinate is more likely to report sexual harassment than a manager, so it's possible the numbers might be skewed. In any case, if unwanted sexual overtures, of any kind, create a hostile work environment, and that's the definition of sexual harassment, it's safe to say managers are harassed as frequently as their subordinates. Wouldn't you say?" 

"I suppose we have subordinates trying to seduce their managers somewhere, but any manager worth his salt could resolve the problem. Making a formal complaint would be advertising your own incompetence." A curious expression settles on his face. "Is there some special reason you're asking these questions, Alex?" 

I shrug noncommittally. "I just think it illustrates the adage that nothing is ever what it appears to be." I smile at him and continue, "But thanks for letting me know you aren't planning to file sexual harassment charges against me." 

Shaking his head, he gapes at me in astonishment. "Tell me you're not really concerned about that." 

"Of course not. Although it crossed my mind once or twice, before the encounter in your garage, that I was walking a fine line." 

"You took some very big risks," he says in his A.D. tone. "Risks you shouldn't have taken. But at this point, if any attention were drawn to our relationship, I'd be on the unemployment line and you'd get extra visits with Dr. Reed." 

I'm fighting laughter again but manage to calmly reply, "The risks were well worth it, Walter. As for Dr. Reed... well, that's certainly incentive to make sure attention is not drawn to our relationship. Besides, I work for Mathis and I have no plans to seduce him." 

In spite of my joke, his face darkens. "Dammit, Alex, it doesn't make any difference how far apart we are on the org chart... Don't you get it? I'm a fucking hypocrite. I spent half the afternoon with this manager, telling him what a fool he was for having an affair with a subordinate. It was my fucking job to have that conversation." 

I toss my fork on my plate. "Yeah, I get it, Walter. I didn't ever not get it. I knew what was bothering you, but the only thing I can say is there's nothing similar between the two situations." I stand and grab my plate, walking around to the other side of the coffee table. "There are very few things I can say I really enjoy." I kick the pile of papers on the floor. "I like bike riding and I like..." Don't go there. I take a breath. "And I don't want this fucked up because one of your section chiefs can't separate work from his personal life." 

I go into the kitchen, entirely fed up with this conversation. Tossing the plate in the sink, I brace my hands on the counter and try to decide what's next. 

After a couple minutes, I sense his presence behind me. "I don't mean to take it out on you, Alex. Between my job and my marriage, I'm not exactly living a life of moral perfection. And I guess I had my face rubbed in it today, but I..." His hand appears on my right shoulder. "I don't regret what has happened... between us." 

My fingertips dig into the countertop. Even though I feel instant relief at his words, I don't turn around. Sighing heavily, I reply, "I didn't think you were taking it out on me, Walter. It just sounded... sounded like you might end this because of today." That was wholly the wrong thing to say. I have barely admitted to myself how much I want this, I certainly should not be telling him. 

"I can't, Alex," he says in a low, flat voice. He steps closer. I feel his warm breath on the back of my neck. A rough cheek brushes against mine. 

* * *

Alex doesn't give a damn about my moral failures. He accepts me as the flawed man I am and doesn't judge. I'll never be that easy on myself, but his acceptance means so much to me. 

Reaching back, his hand finds my hip and pulls me close against his body. With a sigh, his head falls back to rest on my shoulder. His hand lazily caresses my hip. 

I wrap both arms around his waist and try to hold him closer. Words pass through my mind... different ways to express what I feel, but I'm still wary of showing him too much. 

The truth is in my touch. I don't come here just for the sex, although he may never let me prove it to him. As I have many times, I try to move slowly, so we can have time together that isn't fucking. 

He remains still in my arms, one hand continuing the lazy caress along my hip and upper thigh. 

Eventually, he says, "You're still tense, Walter. Come on." He steps away from me and I assume Alex's solution to tension will be sex. So I'm surprised when he has me sit at the dining room table as he clears the food away. A few minutes later, he gets out a Go board. He hands me a bag of white pieces. 

I suppress my astonishment. 

After retrieving my Scotch and his tea from the living room, he sits across from me. Lining up the black pieces, he says, "I'm going to kick your ass." 

Raising an eyebrow, I give him a smug look and start placing my pieces. 

We're pretty evenly matched. After two hours of intense play and criticizing each other's moves, it seems likely we could keep the game going all night with neither clearly ahead. It's a good friendly game... neither of us demonstrates a need to win. 

Out of the blue, Alex says, "I'll tell you what. If you win, you get to fuck me." 

I don't fully grasp his intention until I see him starting to lose. Very quickly. It looks like one of us has a need to lose. I give him a wry grin and keep playing as if it's still a real game. 

When the board is practically covered with white pieces, Alex graciously concedes defeat. I'm picking up the game pieces when Alex's arms come around me and he unbuttons my shirt. His breath is warm near my ear. "Chocolate?" 

"Sure." 

My shirt and Alex disappear. I settle on the sofa and wait for him. Damn, but it's good to be doing nothing in good company on a Friday night. 

A chocolate bar with red and black paper wrapping appears in front of my face. I take it and turn my head to find a naked Alex standing behind me. He sits on the floor and gives me the once over. "God, you look good." Resting his arm on my thigh, he absently plays with my chest hair. 

I tear open the package and break off a small chunk of chocolate. When it nudges his lips, he opens his mouth, capturing both the chocolate and my fingers. He sucks them inside, licking them clean before releasing them. Then his eyes close and he sighs with pleasure as he savors the taste. 

Taking a piece for myself, I allow it to melt on my tongue as he taught me. "More?" 

"Mm hmm," he replies languidly. 

Bending down, so our lips meet, I pass him the piece I just put in my mouth. We spend a good deal more time than is strictly necessary for the transfer of food, tongues exploring his mouth and then my own. 

Alex groans when I pull away. Shifting his position, he leans forward and his mouth plays along my abdomen while his thumb rasps repeatedly over my nipple. 

I pull his mouth up to mine and murmur against his lips, "Let's get ready for bed." He nods and our tongues tangle in his mouth. I break the kiss. "I need to get my bag first. Where's my shirt?" 

Alex looks a little dazed but rises and retrieves it from the bedroom. Slipping on my shoes, I head to the car to get my overnight kit. 

When I return, Alex is leaning against the arm of the sofa, waiting for me. 

"I'm going to take a quick shower." 

He nods and gestures vaguely to the bathroom, murmuring, "I'll get you a towel." 

I shower quickly, stepping out to find Alex rinsing his toothbrush. "Shower?" 

He nods and moves toward me. Catching him around the waist, I pull him to me for a minty kiss. When I release him, he steps into the shower, turning up the hot until steam fills the bathroom. 

When he joins me in the bedroom ten minutes later, his back is fuchsia, having been parboiled by his extreme shower. I open up the bed and slide over to the side I know he doesn't sleep in. 

Alex gets in on his side and I extend my arms. He blinks at me twice, then slides over, resting his head on my shoulder and draping his arm across my waist. It feels so perfect the way our bodies fit together. 

"Thank you for tonight, Alex." 

He looks up at me, his brow creased with confusion. "I haven't done anything yet." 

Suddenly, my mind flashes to the psych report... Is this dissociative behavior? Can he really not understand what tonight was about? For him, was it just marking time until we could fuck? 

With a sad smile, I ruffle his hair. 

His fingers drum absently on my chest and I can almost hear him thinking, trying to make sense of something. After a few minutes, he quietly murmurs, "You're welcome." 

I chuckle softly and get serious about the head massage. Avoiding the back of his head, where he was injured, I thoroughly rub my fingertips across his scalp. His hair feels soft on my fingers. 

All the tension in Alex's body evaporates and he moans faintly. After a few moments, he mumbles, "You're turning me into a brainless blob." 

"Okay. I can live with it." I continue my ministrations, tugging lightly on his hair and massaging, enjoying the little helpless sounds he makes. 

Just as he lapses into gentle snores, I remember that I won the game, so I get to fuck him. There's always tomorrow. 

* * *

Saturday, 16 July 1994 

When I awaken in the dark room, the bed is empty. The bright dial of Alex's alarm clock reads 3:42. His side of the bed is cold. Hmm... I rise and go hunting for my elusive lover. 

The light in the hallway reveals the silhouette of his form in the living room, seated on the couch, head in his hands. Not wanting to startle him, I don't approach. "Are you okay, Alex?" 

As soon as he looks up, I enter the living room. 

"Yeah. Fine." His voice is toneless. "Sorry... I did not mean to fall asleep." 

Sitting next to him, I place a hand on his thigh. "It's okay. It was nice." 

I can barely make out his expression but he looks confused. "I... uh, okay." His tone suggests he thinks I might not be dealing from a full deck. 

Kissing the side of his face, I whisper, "Come back to bed?" 

No response for a second, then he nods and rises to his feet. 

* * *

7:15 A.M. 

I next wake to the mattress shifting and something heavy pressing on my chest. Alex's lips play with my earlobe, as he murmurs, "Come on, Walter. Shower's ready." 

Bleary-eyed, I stumble out of bed. I'm standing under the too hot spray before I realize there is no pressing reason to have gotten out of bed. Then I feel Alex's mouth close over my cock. I decide this is a good thing after all. I grope for the safety bar to prevent myself from landing on my ass. "Morning." 

Alex releases my cock, mumbling something that could pass for 'good morning' before sucking one of my balls into his mouth. He repeatedly switches between both testicles, rolling them with his tongue until I'm gasping for air, now fully hard. 

When he takes me down his throat again, his fingers slip between my ass cheeks, massaging around my anus. 

Alternating between deep throating me, and sucking and nibbling around the head, Alex has me close to coming within minutes. When he senses it, he releases me and licks the length of my erection until the impending orgasm subsides. 

The small part of my brain that is fully awake thinks to object, but the words don't form. 

His hand leaves my ass and I hear a clicking noise. A few seconds later, a lubricated finger penetrates my ass. The moment his finger finds my prostate, he takes me down his throat again. 

Suddenly, I am wide awake and completely convinced this is the perfect way to spend my Saturday morning. The loud groans in the bathroom seem to be coming from my throat. My hips begin to move, as Alex sucks my cock into oblivion. I cry out nonsense syllables as my orgasm is leeched out of me by his talented mouth. 

I find myself clinging to the safety bar with both hands, as my brain melts away again. 

When I can think clearly, I discover Alex kneeling behind me, nuzzling the cheeks of my ass while he massages the backs of my legs. 

Soapy hands replace his lips on my butt, then glide between the cheeks to stroke my anus. After several tingly moments, his hands move between my legs, fondling my balls and stroking my cock. After his extensive fondling, I groan when I feel myself start to harden again. 

When I'm half hard, he rises, moving his hands up my abdomen, rubbing and massaging his way up my chest. While he kneads my pecs and caresses my nipples, his face is pressed against my spine, trailing nips and kisses across my back. 

This is really a huge improvement over my normal morning shower. 

Alex rubs my arms and shoulders, then finishes with a languid head rub. Finally, his arms close around me, and he presses his lips against the back of my neck. 

I rotate clumsily in his arms, so I can get that mouth where I want it. As I kiss him, my hand wanders between our bodies and teases the shaft of his morning erection. 

He groans and thrusts into my hand. Rubbing his body against mine, he mumbles against my mouth, "Good morning, Walter." 

"Yes, it is good," I reply in an uncharacteristically cheerful morning mood. Then I reach for the soap and lather up my hands. I'm less committed to thoroughness than Alex was and more focused on touching his body for my own enjoyment, but he probably still gets clean in the process. 

Washing the front of him consists of getting lather between us and sliding our bodies across each other. He moans and bites his lip at the sensation, gripping both of my arms for support. 

"Your turn, Alex? I can give a competent blowjob, although I'm not quite in your league... or would you rather get fucked?" I've reached the point where it hardly surprises me that I'm erect again. 

He turns a glassy-eyed stare on me and whispers, "Fuck me, Walter." 

I kiss his forehead. "If you like..." 

* * *

My brain is so clouded with lust, I'm barely aware of what's happening until I'm on the bed and feeling trapped. I'm lying on my right side and have used my left shoulder about as much as I'm going to be able to today. And with Walter's body pressed tightly behind mine, I am effectively unable to move. 

I whimper faintly... Having him hold me and fuck me at the same time makes me feel too vulnerable. But his arm around my waist and his cock resting between my ass cheeks feel... too right. I gasp at the sensation of his lips and teeth playing at the back of my neck. Okay, this isn't so bad. Then I notice the mirror. 

Walter has us lying at the foot of the bed, facing the mirror. This mirror thing is out of control. I think to object, but then he's pulling my top leg toward my chest and his hand is slipping between my ass cheeks. I forget what I was going to protest. 

He teases the skin around my anus. "I enjoyed rimming you the other night, Alex." 

Moaning, I wriggle against his hand. "God, Walter, I nearly came when I felt your tongue." My voice sounds faint and breathless. That wasn't the only shocking thing on Tuesday night. Watching Walter lose control and come with such abandon was one of the most incredible things I've ever seen. I guess there is something to be said for mirrors after all. 

Hand withdrawn, a popping sound behind me must be the lube. Then a cool, moist finger probes at my opening. He penetrates me just a little, his pace making it agonizingly clear he's not in any hurry. 

I press my hips back, trying to get more of his finger inside me. 

"I've never done that before." It takes me a moment to process his words... he's never rimmed anyone. Not wanting to think about what this could mean, I file it under the same heading as the rest of this relationship--not significant. Some part of my brain screams 'delusion' but I ignore it. 

Without thinking about it, I clamp my hand on his arm, twisting until I can see his face. Murmuring, "Thank you," I kiss him lightly. When I realize what I'm doing, I turn around, astonished at thanking Walter for doing something I have demanded from dozens of other men. 

Walter's lips find my shoulder, giving it light kisses. His finger pushes deeper inside me, brushing incredibly slowly across my prostate. The sensation is like a fire racing up my spine. Those pathetic whimpering sounds cannot possibly be coming from me. 

Now his finger is barely moving at all... just a tiny rough twitchy motion right on my prostate. My body feels liquid with pleasure. I realize if I pull my leg closer to my chest, the mirror allows me to see his hand between the cheeks of my ass. 

His low husky voice continues in my ear, "Your asshole quivered under my tongue and your entire body writhed." 

Beyond speech, I gasp and press against him. I wondered Tuesday--and it's still a mystery--how he managed to turn rimming me into an act of my surrender. His finger on my prostate makes the answer elusive and... unimportant. 

Even his words are languid. "It turns me on so much... watching the muscles in your ass clench." He eases the finger out very slowly. 

At the loss, I whimper a barely audible, "No." In the mirror, his lips form a hint of a smile at my distress. 

"I can't stop thinking about those muscles contracting when I'm deep inside you..." The volume trails off, revealing the extent of his own arousal. I love the rough powerful sound of his voice, but every word seems to amplify his control over me. 

Two fingers press into me. I groan at the more acute sensation of penetration. Keeping my leg pulled close to my chest, I watch him in the mirror, somewhat fascinated by the sight of his fingers disappearing between the cheeks of my ass. 

"You have gorgeous dimples in your ass. Have you noticed them?" 

I really don't spend much time thinking about my own ass. At least, not until I met Walter. I shake my head, almost more of a restless movement than an answer. 

He scissors me open, slowly. My brain turns to jelly as I'm absorbed in the feeling of being stretched. Silent for a moment, I hear only the passionate sighs of his breath near my ear. Then, "Are you watching us in the mirror?" 

Gasping, I manage to say, "Yes." I cannot possibly miss the image in the mirror. The reality of anyone seeing me this out of control and abandoned is distressing. 

Fucking me unhurriedly, he speaks again. "Talk to me, Alex. Tell me what you're thinking." 

I almost groan at the impossibility of what he's asking. But I feel compelled to respond with as much honesty as I can tolerate. "Thinking... how much I l-love having you inside me. About how good it feels when my ass stretches to take you." 

A low animal sound comes from behind me... a Walter growl. 

"And how your t-" I break off gasping as his fingers brush my prostate. I manage to stutteringly continue, "Your touch feels... so good... makes it impossible to... think." 

Moaning, I move restlessly, feeling too exposed. 

Brushing the side of his face against mine, he tries to soothe me. He removes his fingers. His teeth lodge in the side of my neck, biting me hard enough to hurt. Every rational thought tells me to get away from those teeth placing Walter's mark on my body. But instinct takes over and I'm tilting my head, giving him easier access and pressing into the painful bite. To my own ears, my whimper sounds like surrender. 

And then his cock is at my entrance. "Tell me you want it," he prompts. 

It's more than want. I gasp out, "Please, Walter... fuck me. I need it." 

Walter groans, and I realize the hand holding his cock is shaking. He shoves it into me in one smooth motion. I cry out, my body trembling. Something more than pleasure assaults my senses. Ecstasy. 

His body shifts to curl in closer behind me. I feel his heart pounding. Being held so tightly to his chest makes me feel completely possessed and protected, and utterly terrified. My fingers dig into his arm. 

When he begins to fuck me, it's faster and harder than I expected. He tightens the arm around my waist and pounds into my body. 

I need this. I need his forcefulness to take me out of myself, to help me lose sight of a reality I don't want. Leg still pulled to my chest, I let my body relax, accepting what he's giving me. Letting his cock--thrusting hard into my ass--obliterate my horror at waking up to find I'd simply fallen asleep in his arms, and erase my discomfort about showing him too much of myself. 

The fuck has a rough texture, the nerves in my rectum screaming a twisted combination of pleasure and distress. I realize that, once again, I'm going to come cock untouched. And I don't care. 

My eyes flick to the mirror and I catch him watching me. His face is contorted with agonized pleasure. His hips set up a relentless rhythm, driving his cock into the center of me. When his hand reaches for my cock, it's too late. 

I thrash against him and the intensity of my orgasm makes it impossible to breathe. Nearly unbearable sensation rips through my ass, stemming from the hard invasion of his cock deep inside me. 

When I can once again process the input from my senses, I realize Walter's hips are still, his cock just starting to soften in my ass. 

His arms are around me. Our bodies lie together in a sprawl of boneless limbs. I feel his heartbeat slowing and his warm breath against the back of my neck. 

My eyes flick over the mirror image of two sated, sweaty men. I've never noticed before how hot we look together. 

My fingertips absently trace patterns on the palm of his hand. 

"Shower?" he asks weakly. 

"Didn't we do that already?" 

"Mm hmm." 

* * *

Washington, D.C.  
Tuesday, 19 July 1994  
10:52 A.M. 

I leave Dr. Reed's office and head for my old desk in Mathis' unit. This visit was about as thrilling as the last, but I am approved to return to work. She asked me to consider seeing her voluntarily. 

I told her I would think about it. 

I think not. 

It takes a long time to arrive at my desk. I'm stopped by what feels like every agent I've ever worked with. Most ask benign questions or offer enthusiasm at my return. A few make jokes about my knife or being taken out by an accountant. I paste a neutral smile on my face for all of it. For the first time, I wonder, what now? Coming back to work feels strangely like starting over. I was only on loan to Baker's team and, for some reason, I've been assigned back to Mathis even though the casework on the Rose Killer won't be completed for months. 

There's a note on my desk to report to Mathis' office as soon as I arrive. Sighing, I head down the hall in search of one of my least favorite people. 

He greets me effusively, obviously still high about nabbing the Rose Killer and 'saving' me. It makes me want to gag. Eventually, he gets around to telling me that I will be backing up the senior agents with whatever they need until I'm well... Nothing that will overtax me. 

I resist the urge to thank him by wringing his neck. 

As I'm wrapping up to leave for the day, Nate Gjersee appears at my desk. "Hey, Alex. Welcome back." 

Leaning back in my chair, I reply, "Hi, Nate. How have things been?" He's obviously been spending time in the sun... much tanner, and his hair seems even blonder. 

He shrugs. "Nothing as exciting as what you've been dealing with. I'm on a task force setting up a sting for an international criminal--possibly terrorist--who will be in the U.S. next week. Hey listen, my girlfriend took a liking to you that night at the Bingham party. She's determined to rectify your 'unhappy state of bachelorhood.' She has a friend she wants you to meet. You available to come over sometime for dinner?" 

Oh, lord. I evasively reply, "Thanks, Nate. But I'm not up to a blind date right now." 

He nods sympathetically. "Well, when you're feeling better." 

I tamp down the urge to tell him that's not what I meant. Then I catch him looking at my neck... at the bite Walter gave me. Most of the mark is covered by my shirt collar, but some bruising is visible. It has to look like a hickey. 

Awareness of the mark makes my dick hard. I sit up in the chair and scoot closer to my desk. Fortunately, Gjersee doesn't say anything and I act as if I didn't notice his glance. 

He starts to turn away, then abruptly wheels back around. "Oh, hey, I almost forgot. I heard you speak a lot of languages." 

I nod. 

He grins. "I don't suppose one of those languages is Russian?" 

I nearly choke. Anytime Russia comes up, I sniff for a setup. Keeping my expression blank, I cautiously reply, "Yes." 

He looks enthusiastic. "Is your Russian good enough for translation work?" 

My suspicion fades. Gjersee's looking for a favor. "Yeah, my Russian is excellent." 

"Great! Listen, two of our three translators are out with the flu and we have a major backlog of tape to transcribe. I, uh, know you're at loose ends for a few days. Any chance you can help us?" 

It actually sounds good. I would like to hear someone speaking my native tongue again, even if it's dull surveillance transcription. "Sure. You gonna clear it with Mathis?" 

"Yeah. I'll get the SAC to talk to him this afternoon." 

Nate leaves after telling me where to report in the morning. As soon as he's gone, I find my fingers touching the side of my neck. 

* * *

Washington, D.C.  
Wednesday, 20 July 1994  
1:36 P.M. 

At first, translating the surveillance tapes was interesting. Now, it's just boring. 

Wrapping up another tape, I pass the transcription to the senior agent. After the first two tapes, he stopped checking my work, commenting that it was some of the best Russian translation he'd seen. Then he condescendingly added, "A little more practice and you could join my team." I fought the urge to laugh. 

I take a quick breather and come back to find the room empty. I don't have any more tapes in my stack, so I grab one off the other agent's desk. As soon as the tape starts to roll, I hear a voice I never expected to hear again. A voice that can only belong to Yuri Smetanin. 

It takes a few minutes to realize Yuri is betraying Arntzen into the hands of the FBI. I was not intended to hear this information. It occurs to me that Arntzen is the target of this entire investigation. I quickly remove the tape and place it back on the other agent's desk. 

Shit. 

Even though I don't know why Yuri is doing this, I don't like it. 

Standing in the hall of the second floor of the J. Edgar Hoover building, everything suddenly seems surreal. How in the world did I wind up here? 

Without even thinking about my motives, I carefully plan how to handle the situation. Leaving, I make a quick run to the bank, then come back to work to finish translating. 

One the way home, I stop at a payphone near a deserted gas station. Feeding a lot of change into the slot, I dial a number I committed to memory years ago. I keep an eye on the hands of my watch. This has to be fast. 

After three rings, Arntzen answers. In Russian, I tersely say, "Need to talk on a secure line." 

"This is-" 

I cut him off. "It's not." 

"Twenty minutes." He rattles off a phone number and I scribble it on the back of my hand. 

Back in my car, I randomly pick a direction and drive for 20 minutes. 

Another pay phone, more change, a new phone number. I hope Arntzen is correct about this line being secure. 

The call is answered on the first ring. "What do you want?" 

"Comrade, do you know who this is?" 

There's silence for a moment, then he cautiously replies, "Yes. Where have you been?" 

"Doesn't matter." I carefully choose my words. "You are going to the States next week?" 

"And you would know that, how?" His voice is now suspicious. 

"It's a setup. Yuri has given information to the American authorities. Consider alternatives." 

There's a rush of breath as he exhales suddenly. "Why would I believe you?" 

"You should not trust anyone. Especially me. But consider that caution is always the wiser choice." 

He gives a short laugh at hearing his own words quoted back to him. "Anything you need--anything--you have only to ask." 

I hang up, get into my car and go home. 

* * *

Washington, D.C.  
Friday, 22 July 1994  
7:03 A.M. 

I've been thinking about the last time at Alex's place. When I turned off the alarm this morning, I didn't get up. Instead, I jacked off replaying Saturday morning's fuck. I love fucking him side by side, holding him in my arms. The rest of my life is coarse, ugly and meaningless compared to my time with Alex. 

I'm still thinking about him when I unlock the door to my office. I reach for my daily schedule, like I do every morning, but then push it away. Instead, I open my desk drawer and remove a small envelope. And pull out the gold ring. 

The inscription reads, 'Love forever, Sharon.' 

Hers says, 'All my love, Walter.' 

I never meant it to be a lie. 

If I could make our relationship right, I would. But I've tried and each attempt just makes the failure more painful. The guilt deeper. 

Surely it's not my responsibility to be a martyr to my marriage? I can't believe Sharon would want that. 

She does love me. It astonishes me. Can she really forgive all my failures? Would she forgive my affair with Alex, too? 

I've been trying not to face the changes happening inside me. The truth I've been hiding from myself... I need to leave Sharon. For my own survival. Maybe for hers, too. 

It has nothing to do with Alex and everything to do with Alex. My heart beats faster. My cock gets hard twice in an hour. Some days I leave work eager to be somewhere. At the gym, I work out harder. I want him to like what he sees. Nothing turns me on like seeing his lust for me. I want to like what I see in the mirror. I'm a sexual being. My body is more than a tool to subdue criminals and push pencils... it's a source of pleasure. And it hasn't felt like that in a long time. 

All I have to do is tell Sharon. So hard to do... I don't want to disappoint her again. That look in her eyes... I've seen it way too many times and it's always my fault. 

I'm so sorry, Sharon. 

My eyes are stinging... Kissing the ring, I put it back in the envelope. I do love her, but I'm not prepared to destroy myself to maintain something that isn't working for her either. 

All I have to do is tell her. 

I'll rent an apartment, so I can move out right away. The house will be paid off in another five years. I can easily cover the mortgage and rent. If Sharon wants alimony, I'll pay that, too. Not that she'd ask for it. 

Maybe I'll get a place in Georgetown. I like the noisy streets. An easy drive to work. An easy drive to Alex's place. He could come to my place. I'd enjoy that... waking up with Alex in my bed. Do normal things... read the paper, fix stuff, make dinner for him. 

A double buzz from Kimberly shakes me out of my musings. The signal means my next meeting is here. 

I open the door and look into the lined face of Mr. Smith. Suddenly, my mouth tastes bad. 

"Good morning, Skinner," he says in a voice that always seems inappropriately pleasant. 

After grunting some sort of neutral greeting, I retrieve a box of mints from my desk and pop one into my mouth. 

* * *

7:42 A.M. 

I arrive to find an odd mixture of upset and listlessness among Nate's team. 

Before starting translation, I pull him aside. "What's going on?" 

He sighs. "Thanks for all your help, Alex. But this case is de-prioritized. All the translation will be done eventually, but it's not critical any longer." 

"Why not?" 

He glances around to make sure no one is listening. Leaning down slightly, he whispers, "I shouldn't say this but, in truth, our case is dead. Doesn't look like the target is leaving Russia and our contacts tell us he's practically vanished. What no one wants to admit, is that it looks like we had a leak. Our informant was found floating face down near the docks in St. Petersburg last night." 

That's the answer I was hoping for. "Well, if you need anything, Nate." I let the rest of the sentiment remain unsaid and watch Gjersee get back to work. 

Walking slowly back to my desk, I feel intense satisfaction knowing Yuri is dead. 

* * *

7:20 P.M. 

Kimberly picked up a sandwich for me, as she often does when I work late. I actually eat most of it while working on a disciplinary action form. The first one I've done in over a month that doesn't have Mulder's name on it. 

My cell rings. I hope it's not the Director. I haven't finished the budget yet. Plus I'm on his shit list right now and he's probably looking for something odious to lob into my corner. "Skinner." 

"You work too much." Alex's voice, pitched at its sultry range, makes me groan into the phone. 

"Hi." 

"Isn't there something you'd rather be doing?" 

Suddenly, the burden of my paperwork seems pointless and non-essential. "Many things. Most of them involving you." 

He gives a husky laugh and replies, "I called to find out when you'd like to do some of those things again." 

"Soon... very soon." I visualize my plans for the next few days and lament out loud. "My weekend's a little out of control, though. Something I promised to do..." 

"Hmm... I was thinking more along the lines of keeping you occupied for the rest of this evening." 

My mouth opens automatically to defer pleasure for duty, but the words don't come. "What did you have in mind and where?" 

"Poetry and wine tasting?" I don't think I've ever heard Alex's voice sound mischievous. 

"Let me see... poetry and wine tasting with you vs. trying to cut $2.3 million out of next year's budget. It's a tough choice." 

"I have to compete with budget cuts? I guess I need to add some incentive. How about my mouth and ass at your beck and call for the next few hours?" 

"Hmm... that's slightly more incentive than the poetry and wine, but either would be a vast improvement over my current plans." 

"So, you're available for an evening of debauchery?" 

"Yes..." 

"My place or something, ah, closer?" 

My mood is dampened by the thought that flashes through my mind. I'd like to take him someplace nice for dinner. But I know too damned many people. Our accidental encounter at Chez Mitani proves it. It happens to me all the time. I might be the one to lose my job, but it wouldn't be easy on his career either. 

"Walter?" 

"Oh, sorry. Your place, I guess. Forty-five minutes?" 

"Mm... I'll see you then." 

I take the stack of work I'd set aside for tonight and shove it into the top drawer of my desk. It's been quite a few years since I last left work behind in favor of spontaneous fun. Maybe I'm not so old and serious after all. 

On the drive to Alex's place, I stop and pick up an assortment of cheeses and fruit. In case he hasn't eaten. In case we need to replenish our energy reserves. 

My cock has been hard since the phone call... 'How about my mouth and ass at your beck and call...' Groaning audibly, my fingers reach out to tap on the door. 

A few seconds later it opens, but I don't see Alex. Stepping inside, I notice the apartment is dim but I spot him--naked--with his hand on the doorknob. He shuts the door then gives me a push, bringing my back up against the door. 

Before I can fully process what's happening, the food is removed from my hands, Alex is on his knees, my cock is in his hand and then down his throat. 

My breath hitches and somehow I manage to moan weakly without any oxygen in my lungs. I'm lost. Slumped against the door, my hand reaches ineffectually... finding his ear before I can locate the back of his head. 

I feel his moan reverberate through my cock, then he applies more pressure on the underside. He sucks hard at the head, tongues the slit, then quickly takes me down again. 

I push forward, hand held firmly in his hair, and begin to thrust at my own increased pace. Alex's soft lips glide across my shaft and I'm gone. Some kind of sound is coming out of me, but my entire world is his hot mouth and the bursting of my cock inside his throat. 

His hand clenches in the flesh of my hip as I feel the constriction of him convulsively swallowing around the head of my dick. When my brain is clear again, I'm slumped against the door with Alex licking my cock. 

Stroking the side of his face, I begin to laugh. 

He leans back and looks up at me. Even in the dimness I can see the color of his eyes, as if they are backlit. "My blowjobs don't usually elicit mirth." His voice is soft and his hands gently stroke my legs. 

I touch his face, then cup the back of his head. "Your blowjobs make 42-year-old men come like teenagers." 

Alex gives a faint laugh. "I like it when you behave like a teenager." I'm beginning to like it myself. There's a pause, then he continues, "But I do like tasting you." The wistful note is his voice tells me he didn't quite get enough. 

I did come in what seemed like 60 seconds. After opening my mouth to apologize, I realize how ludicrous it is. He's the one who pounced on me... And he's way too good at what he does. 

Suppressing a smile, my fingers move up into his hair, massaging his scalp. There's a groan of pleasure and his head drops forward to rest against me. 

Squatting down next to him, I continue the head rub and kiss him. He's so familiar to me now... the taste and scent of him, the way he kisses me, first tasting and exploring, then yielding... giving his mouth to me. I break the kiss, muttering, "Ah, fuck." 

I release his hair and pull him to my chest. 

His arms come around me and he kisses the side of my neck. "Hi Walter... glad you could come over." He's breathless and his voice is faintly amused. 

The tiny nubs of his nipples are standing erect. I brush my thumb across one and then the other. There's a hiss and he twitches against me. I grin at him as my hand moves further down. I tease the shaft of his hard-on with my fingertips. He gasps and thrusts against my hand, encouraging me to touch him. 

Releasing his cock, I close my fist gently around his balls. "Stand up." 

Alex blinks at me as if not understanding my words, then slowly rises. My hand still gripping his nuts, I stand at the same time. My pants fall to the floor. 

With a squeeze, I let go of his balls. "Take off my clothes." 

His eyes burn with lust as he reaches to push my jacket off my shoulders. My tie is quickly removed, then his fingers move to the neck of my shirt. He pauses and, with a faint smile, leans forward and closes his mouth around the button at my throat. Using his lips, teeth and tongue he works down my chest, popping open the buttons. 

Kneeling, he removes the rest of my clothes, draping them over the arm of a chair. 

"Get the lube." 

Scooting across the floor, he retrieves it from the cabinet under the coffee table, holding the bottle out to me. 

I shake my head, trying to look stern. 

He looks faintly puzzled. "Tell me what to do for you, Walter." His voice is rough with desire. 

I meet his eyes--which look like green flame--and extend my hand. 

He applies a generous amount of lube on my fingers, then leans back, sitting on his heels. 

"Spread your legs." 

Alex stares at me intently for several seconds, then pulls his knees apart. 

I sit on the floor next to him, back supported by the couch. Friction warms the lube as I brush my fingers across one another. Alex's eyes avidly watch those fingers and he stops breathing. Then he takes a gasping breath and his tongue flicks out to stroke his lower lip. 

"Kneel over my lap." 

He drops to his hands and knees over my thighs. The sight of his tight ass cheeks, hard cock and balls dangling, sucks the air out of my lungs, but I succeed in muffling a groan. I touch a wet finger to his anus. He hisses and pushes back with his hips. 

Easing the finger inside him, I make slow spiral motions, before drawing it out again. He moans and tries to follow with his body. Then I push in two, fucking him gently on them, enjoying the sight of his ass twitching around my hand. 

Body trembling, he gasps, "God, Walter... please..." 

"Please what, Alex?" With my other hand, I reach up under him and tease the head of his cock. He jerks at the touch. 

"Not... not so slow," he chokingly replies. "Please... harder." 

Ignoring his sweet plea, I whisper, "Spread your knees." 

He whimpers faintly and shifts his knees apart until one touches the couch. 

I get a head rush from his exquisite compliance... He'll do whatever I tell him to. Reminding myself to breathe, I curl my hand around his erection. Then I extract my fingers from his rectum and penetrate him again with three. 

He grunts and tenses, body resisting the more intense penetration. Then with a sound like a choked sob, his head drops down in surrender, asshole relaxing and accepting my fingers deeper into his body. 

I groan as my free hand brushes roughly down the shaft of his leaking cock. I fuck him slowly, loving the slick, tight feel of his rectum as it closes around my fingers. I mumble, "Don't come," and my voice is so raw I have to clear my throat. "Not yet." 

He takes a shuddering breath and whimpers, "Please." His body shakes as he pushes back to meet the thrust of my fingers. 

"Not yet," I reply, silently laughing at myself for telling him not to come too soon. Increasing the velocity of my fucking, I aim for his prostate. I want him to explode with blinding pleasure like I do with him. I need him to feel as much as I do. 

Alex gives a moan of frustration and I see the struggle as he fights his orgasm. The muscles of his back flex, glistening with sweat. He writhes as if he can't decide whether to seek my fingers or flee from them. 

Then he stops fighting and drops down onto his forearms, fingers fisting in the carpet. His body is tense and quivering but it's clear he'll do whatever I want, let me draw this out for as long as I desire. "Walter, please... I need... I... please let me come." 

"Not yet." I am such a bastard, but it's impossible not to enjoy what I'm doing to him. I close my grip around his cock and rub the head of it with my thumb. He gasps and his whole body shakes with his need. It's so sensitive. I can imagine what it feels like. Imagine his desperation. I know how badly he needs it. 

Of course there's nothing to stop him from coming... except my demand that he not. Does he want to please me? Or just enjoy being controlled? 

I fuck him harder. I want to take him right to the edge. If I misjudge, neither of us will be able to prevent his orgasm. 

Shifting my hand so I'm jacking him off again, I fuck him faster, fingers seeking his tiny prostate. I'm starting to feel that I won't last somehow... 

Gasping, he jerks away from the hand around his cock, consequently pushing hard against my penetrating fingers. "Walter... god, don't... can't stop..." 

I'm as wound up as he is... breathing fast and shallow. Concentrating, I take a few deep breaths before I utter the word he's longing to hear. "Come." 

Alex throws his head back and freezes for a fraction of a second. Then with a harsh guttural cry, he orgasms violently--body thrashing, ass spasming around my fingers. It feels almost like it's happening in my own body. The vibrations and heat of him are all around me... I'm in him and under him and part of it. 

When the convulsions of pleasure subside, his breath comes in ragged gasps as he collapses over my legs, trapping my hand between his body and my thigh. My own respiration is slowing. Leaning over his splayed form, I huddle closer to bring our bodies into as much contact as possible. 

When he stirs, I ease my fingers out of his ass and extract my semen-sticky hand from underneath him. 

I see him struggling to move and, after a bit of trying, he manages to get to his knees. Crawling forward, he gropes blindly in the cabinet and extracts a small towel. Returning to me, he hands over the towel and I see his face for the first time. He looks completely dazed. Kneeling next to my legs, he relaxes against me and his lips find mine. 

When he pulls away, he murmurs, "Glad you didn't keep working on the budget?" 

Offering him only a wry grin, I ruffle his hair in my fingers and tug him onto my lap. 

His fingertips lazily roam my chest and his expression becomes a little pensive. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything important." The tentativeness in his voice grabs my attention. "I just... wanted to see you." 

His unexpected words create a warm sensation deep inside me. It's so unlike him to make a point of sharing a feeling... he must really mean it. 

As I open my mouth to respond, I realize I'm hesitant to say the words. "There's no place I'd rather be, Alex." 

He looks at me intently for a moment, then his fingers stroke the side of my face. Almost too quietly to hear, he whispers, "...happy you're here." And his mouth finds mine again. 

* * *

Falls Church, VA  
Saturday, 23 July 1994  
11:55 A.M. 

My bike ride was significantly shorter than I had planned. I felt fatigued after only thirty minutes and gave up after an hour. 

I pause at my mailbox, shoulder aching dully, sweating much more than the activity warranted. My mail is normally very ordinary, but today it contains a hand-addressed envelope. Perhaps the only interesting piece of mail I have ever received. 

Tucking the mail under my arm, I carry the bike upstairs. 

Inside the apartment, I lean against the door, thinking of last night. I was much too impatient to wait until we could get to the bed. The room still smells faintly of sex... and of him. I'm instantly hard. 

I was uncertain about calling him, but I'm becoming accustomed to seeing him regularly. I catch myself smiling. Very glad I called. 

When I set the mail on the dining room table, I recall the strange letter. I open it and find a terse note. 

\--  
Alex, Meet me at our diner. Monday, 7:30 P.M. -M. \-- 

Must be Morgan. But our diner? I shred the note and toss it in the trash. I wonder what he wants. And I wonder how he got my address. 

* * *

Falls Church, VA  
Sunday, 24 July 1994  
3:34 P.M. 

The knock at the door is unexpected, so I grab my gun before moving to answer it. A glance through the peephole reveals one of Spender's goons. I groan. I am summoned. 

Opening the door, I tersely say, "I'll be out in five minutes." 

The goon nods and heads back to the stairs. 

Leaving my Bureau-issue SIG Sauer, I put on my shoulder holster and grab my Glock from a locked case in the closet. I reach for my leather jacket on the way out the door. 

The smell of smoke is, as always, pervasive in the back of the car. 

"Hello, Alex." 

My only reply is a vague grunt. The car pulls out of the parking lot, and I refuse to ask where we're going, since I have no doubt he won't answer. 

A thick file lands in my lap. "Your new assignment." 

I cast him an inquisitive look. "I'm leaving the Bureau?" 

His return glance is condescending. "After all the time and effort we've put into you?" 

I guess that's a no. Turning my attention to the file, I open it to find a dossier on... "Fox Mulder? You cannot be serious." 

"Deadly serious, Alex." 

I look back at him. "Why?" 

"Mr. Mulder may be a key player in some of our plans, but he's out of control. Every attempt to bring him into line has met with failure. That's where you come in." 

"How so?" 

"We need someone to monitor Mr. Mulder. Help us find his weaknesses... a way to control him." 

I gape at him. "How?" 

"You will be working with him in the near future. Within the next week, you will be notified of a case assignment. It's important you get him to trust you. The key to his trust is his beliefs... his crusade, if you will." 

"You want me to talk up alien and UFO babble and pretend to believe it?" This is beyond even my acting abilities. 

He just looks at me for a minute. "And one other thing." I have a feeling of dread. "Regardless of the various aspects of this assignment, a key objective is to always keep Mr. Mulder safe." 

I'm speechless for a minute, then blurt out, "You want me to babysit?" 

His non-response is a malicious smile. He actually spends several long minutes offering advice on getting under Mulder's defenses. He briefs me on Dr. Dana Scully, their first attempt to control Mulder. Part of my brain files the information away, the rest of me tunes out. This is un-fucking-believable. 

Before he drops me off somewhere miles from my place, he hands me a cell phone. "I'll need to be able to reach you at all times." 

Just what I always wanted. 

* * *

Falls Church, VA  
Monday, 25 July 1994  
7:28 P.M. 

I find Morgan sitting at the same table as our last visit to this diner, nursing a cup of coffee. I slide into the booth across from him. 

He gives me a suggestive look. "You're looking good, kid." 

I keep my tone mild. "Stop flirting and tell me why you needed to see me." 

Morgan grins. "I like you, Alex. You're direct. Don't meet many people I like in my line of work." 

No doubt. I nod to acknowledge the compliment but say nothing. 

He chuckles. "Okay, kid. Down to business. Thought you might be interested in a little piece of intel about your employer." 

It's not even possible that he's referring to the FBI, so I assume he's talking about Spender. "Always. What's the information?" 

"I was offered a contract recently, one I accepted. It concerns you." 

"Hit or surveillance?" 

His deep belly laugh reverberates through the diner, drawing the attention of the few patrons. "See, I knew I liked you, kid. Here I might have a hit on you and you don't even blink. Surveillance." 

Fuck. "Specific duration or indefinite?" 

"Two weeks." 

"I assume you have a suggestion." 

"Well, it doesn't seem conducive to our future working relationship to be spying on you, now does it?" 

"No, it does not." Morgan is already clear on the fact that I am not joining his organization, so he must be referring to the future contracts I agreed to. Or he still thinks he's getting me into bed. 

He continues, "I can't very well turn it down as that could affect my future business, and you would still wind up with someone watching you. So, what's a businessman to do?" 

"From a purely financial perspective, you should offer to let the third party buy out the contract." 

"I like your style, kid." 

"How much?" 

He names a fairly reasonable price and I nod. A piece of paper with a series of numbers is passed. I tuck it into my pocket and reply, "You'll have it tomorrow." 

"You don't exactly drive a hard bargain." 

I shrug. "It's worth it. I like my privacy." 

"Well, I tell you what, for this price, we'll be keeping an eye out and let you know if it looks like there are any other players in your game." 

Acknowledging the offer with a nod, I thank Morgan and leave. 

On the way home, all I can think is, I hope this surveillance thing is new in response to the upcoming assignment. I think I would have noticed if anyone had been hanging around the apartment or following me, but it's never safe to assume. Regardless of Morgan's offer, it's best if I don't see Walter for a while, until I can make sure we're not being watched. 

* * *

Washington, D.C.  
Tuesday, 26 July 1994  
8:04 A.M. 

I'm surprised by a call informing me that I have a visitor in the lobby. 

An unremarkable looking kid in his late teens hands me an envelope and takes off before I can ask any questions. 

Back at my desk, I find an already-filled-out 302 with supporting documentation to investigate the death of one Dr. Saul Grissom. Death of unknown cause after reporting a fire in his apartment. Fucking lovely. 

The only thing unofficial in the envelope is a note to present the 302 to Mathis for approval. I leave early for my 9:00 meeting with the thin-lipped Fogelberg fan. 

* * *

8:39 A.M. 

Mulder brought me a newspaper clipping and a 911 tape related to a suspicious death in New York City. 

"The article makes no mention of the fire," he prompts. 

"Yes, Agent Mulder, I can read." My brain sifts the data, trying to find Mulder's angle on this one. 

"Grissom's company had a number of government contracts, which would place this investigation within the Bureau's jurisdiction." 

Don't bullshit me, Mulder. "But that's not why you want the assignment." 

"I think that the circumstances surrounding Grissom's death warrant a closer look. I called NYPD but they won't even talk to me unless you get the Attorney General to sign off on it." 

In other words, you already tried to investigate the case without my authority. "Where'd you get the tape? Presumably, someone has led you to believe there is more here than is being reported." 

"My source," he says, his voice breaking, "the only one I've ever trusted, is dead." 

I want to help. A fabulous brain is being wasted on wiretaps. But the Director and his pal Smith seem to want Mulder humbled. What exactly can I get away with here? "I'll look into this further and, uh, let you know." You have to do your dirty work, too, Mulder. "In the meantime, you have 24 hours of wiretap tape that need to be transcribed." 

End Part 5 

* * *

Exigency: Yield  
Part 6 

Washington, D.C.  
Tuesday, 26 July 1994  
9:35 A.M. 

"Krycek." 

I look up at Mathis' lipless and dour mug. 

He drops a folder on my desk. "Case approved. Have some bad news for you, though." 

"Yes?" 

"You'll be working with Agent 'Spooky' Mulder. Sorry, buddy." Buddy? When exactly did we become friends? "It's your case, though, so go to it." 

I watch Mathis depart before heading out to meet my new assignment. 

Later, standing in the Bureau parking garage, I'm unable to believe I fell for Mulder's 'requisition a car' routine. Seems like I fell for my own 'gullible green agent' act. What a royal pain in the ass this is. 

Keeping my real assignment in mind, I head after Mulder. It doesn't take much brain power to figure out where he went. The first place I would go for this investigation. 

* * *

Sleep Disorders Clinic  
New York City, NY  
2:13 P.M. 

Sitting in the Bureau car, I see Mulder emerge from the sleep disorders clinic and search for his cab. I get out of the car and walk toward him. "I paid off your cab." 

Mulder looks exasperated. 

"I don't appreciate being ditched like someone's bad date." 

He turns toward the car, replying sarcastically, "Sorry if I hurt your feelings." 

Jesus, I missed babysitting 101 in my American culture classes. Where do I start? "Where do you get off copping this attitude? You don't know the first thing about me." 

"Exactly." 

Smug bastard. Let's see if Spender's advice about Mulder was correct. "You know, back at the academy, some of the guys used to make fun of you." 

"Oh, stop it or you're gonna hurt my feelings." 

I continue, amazed I manage to pull this off without laughing. "But there were some of us who followed your work. Believed in what you were doing because we knew that there was more out there than they were telling us." 

Something in his expression shifts. Maybe it worked. Apparently everyone has the goods on you, Mulder. You're going to have to come up with some new screening criteria. 

Mulder's cell phone rings. "Yeah. ... Well, what is it?" He looks back at me. "I can make it in two hours." 

He tries to open the car door and I dangle the keys. "Where we going?" 

Mulder instructs me to head to Quantico. As soon as we're on the expressway, I ask, "What did you get at Grissom's clinic?" 

He stares at me for a moment, then replies, "Grissom was at the forefront of sleep disorder research." 

"Any emotional or mental imbalances?" 

"According to his nurse, no. But he was working on some interesting experiments." 

"Such as?" 

"Attempting to alter his patients' dreams," he hesitates, then continues, "by creating visual and auditory hallucinations." 

I mull that over for a second. "Are you thinking this had something to do with his death?" 

He shrugs. "Don't know. But the 911 tape certainly supports the idea that Grissom was suffering from a hallucination." 

"So, you're suggesting he may have been killed by his own research? If that's true, it's like-" 

"Being stabbed with your own knife?" Mulder offers blandly. 

I think I could put his head through the window and still keep one hand on the steering wheel. 

He continues, "We'll know more after the results of the autopsy." 

Thank you, Captain Obvious. 

* * *

Quantico, VA  
4:32 P.M. 

I am somewhat surprised to find myself introduced to Agent Scully. And she looks much less than thrilled to see me. My mind whirls trying to remember the details I was given about her. The most significant thing is that they aren't supposed to be in contact any longer. So why is she autopsying the subject of our investigation? It belatedly occurs to me that she rather strongly resembles a whore Yuri purchased for me in St. Petersburg. Feels like a lifetime ago. 

I am absentmindedly following Mulder when a horrible smell assaults my nose. Ugh. I clear my throat and look back to see twin expressions of exasperation. 

No, it's not the body, Dr. Agent. It's the formaldehyde you stuffed him with. God, I'm glad I don't have to deal with the corpses. The killing part smells much better. 

I manage to ignore the smell long enough to listen to Scully rattle off astonishingly improbable findings. His body believed it was burning? These two seem like a match made in heaven. 

* * *

Washington, D.C.  
Wednesday, 27 July 1994  
7:04 A.M. 

I have a message from a homicide police detective, asking me to call him at the precinct regarding the death of Henry Willig. His message indicates the death may be related to a case I am currently working on. 

After we talk and he agrees to fax the case information, I wonder how he knew to contact me. 

Reviewing the report, I have to concede that, in a very bizarre way, the cases do seem related. Another autopsy report where secondary symptoms of a trauma are observed, but not the primary. I really hope this strangeness is not going to be a permanent fixture in my life. 

* * *

10:30 A.M. 

I discuss the information with Mulder and he quickly finds the connection between Willig and Grissom. Then we head out to the V.A. Medical Center to speak with a man named Augustus Cole. 

While driving to New York, I consider the case. I'm certain Mulder has some theory about this, but he hasn't been very forthcoming. 

At the V.A., Cole's doctor babbles about his treatment as we walk to the patient's room. The doctor makes some odd mention of Cole disrupting the other patients' sleep. What did he do, bang on the walls? Mulder basically asks the same question and the doctor rather pointedly ignores him. 

Then we discover that Cole's room is empty. 

Of course. I have a premonition of how the rest of this case is going to be. Pick the strangest possible occurrence, and that's what will happen next. 

More oddness at the nurse's station. The doctor insists he did not sign Cole out, but the nurse produces a discharge form with his signature. 

Mulder turns to me. "Let's get Cole's face onto the wire." Then his cell phone rings. He answers and moves away. 

Glancing up, I see Mulder looking rather unnaturally blank as he listens to the call. 

Back in the car, he says, "We need to update the police on Cole, get them looking for him, too." He pulls up in front of the police station. 

I get out of the car and realize Mulder isn't joining me when he pulls away from the curb. Fuck. Suckered again. I'm certain I could eliminate his reproductive options and still keep him 'safe.' 

There's no way I'm going to be able to track him down, so I go into the station. We get an A.P.B. out on Cole and I discuss some of the case information with the police captain. About 30 minutes later, an officer steps into the captain's office. "Agent Krycek?" 

"Yes?" 

"A man matching Cole's description just robbed a drugstore. He's thought to be in a motel about two blocks from here." 

Fuck. Mulder, you pain in the ass. "Thanks." 

The officer hands me sheet of paper with an address. "Detective Horton is at the scene and is expecting you as soon as possible." 

Guess I'll walk. "All right. I'm on my way. If Agent Mulder turns up, give him this information." 

I'm about half a block down the street when I see Mulder's car. I flag him down and jump in. "Where were you? Someone matching Cole's description just robbed a drugstore in Queens, and the place is located under a motel just around the corner." 

"Is he alive?" 

"He was when the night man just saw him. So where were you?" 

Mulder's quiet for a moment, then replies, "Following a lead. Have some information that another member of Cole's squad is still alive." 

I point him to the next turn. "Who?" 

"Salvatore Matola." 

"How did you find out about him?" 

At that moment, we pull up in front of the motel and Mulder manages to avoid the question. 

Inside, I spot the man who looks like he's in charge. "Detective Horton? I'm Agent Krycek. This is Agent Mulder." 

Horton guides us down the hall. "I've been waiting for you guys. I tried holding the swat guys back but they're getting a little antsy. For what it's worth, Cole didn't steal dime-one from that drug store, just a bunch of pills." 

Pills? Was he desperate for an antihistamine? The sound of gunshots, followed by a scream, rip through the motel. 

We race up the stairs. People are stepping out of their rooms with an amazing lack of self preservation. As we pass them, I yell, "Inside! Now!" We follow the chaos into one of the rooms. "Officer down!" 

Someone's administering CPR. I look into the next room. No sign of Cole, but it's the same scene. Another officer down. It's like they... 

I join Mulder, who's looking out the window. "What's going on here, Mulder? These two officers... they shot each other." What could possibly cause two men to shoot at their partners? 

Mulder looks at the wounded officer lying on the floor. I can see he has a theory about what's happening, but he doesn't say anything. Fucking uncommunicative pain in the ass. Even if his theory is insane, I'd rather hear something... anything. 

We accompany the officers to the hospital. I speak with Detective Horton, and Mulder is on his cell phone again. My best guess: he is talking to Scully. I have to wonder why Spender ever believed these two were successfully separated. 

Walking up to him, I gesture that we need to go. 

"I'll be right there, Krycek." 

A few minutes later, we're on the way to Jay's Diner. 

Salvatore Matola looks completely strung out. Like he's on drugs or hasn't slept in days. 

Then Matola spins an improbable story about how his entire squad was turned into a sleep eradication experiment. If his story is true, it certainly explains his appearance. 

He starts talking about the time his squad went AWOL. "We just made up missions as we went along, until it didn't matter anymore who we were killing. Farmers, women. Outside of Phu Bai, there was this school... they were just kids." 

I have been somewhat disbelieving of his story up until now--although Mulder appears enraptured. "No one ever tried to stop you?" I ask. 

Matola looks at me. "No, sir." 

I glance away, feeling disgusted. I wonder why this bothers me. What do I care who he's killed? 

Then another name is thrown into the equation. A Doctor Gerardi. The surgeon who worked with Grissom. 

As soon as we're in the car, Mulder brings up Gerardi, insisting Cole is going after him. 

I shake my head. "I'm still not clear why you think Cole would go after Gerardi." 

"Cole sees himself as a kind of avenging angel. In his mind, everyone responsible for the atrocities, whether directly or indirectly, must be punished." 

"Yeah, but why now? Why after all these years?" 

"Phu Bai was one of the bloodiest massacres of the war. Over 300 children slaughtered. But unlike My Lai, no U.S. troops were ever charged. The 24th anniversary of the massacre was two days ago." 

Too much information, Agent Mulder. I feel a headache coming on. His cell phone rings before I can come up with a reply. 

I listen to his half of the conversation and easily determine it's the intrepid Dr. Scully. How convenient. 

Mulder finally says, "Try to have a photograph waiting for us at the security desk so we know who we're looking for, okay?" He hangs up and looks at his watch. 

"Security desk where?" 

"Bronx station. Gerardi's arriving on the 7:30 train." 

The traffic is hellacious, threatening our chances of catching Cole. We arrive at the station as Gerardi's train is disembarking. We dash inside and are met by someone holding a photograph. 

I look at the picture of Gerardi and hand it back to Mulder. 

He takes off, saying, "Stay here, I'll cover you on the side." 

A few seconds later, I see Mulder looking at me. I shake my head, haven't seen either of them. 

Suddenly, Mulder disappears and then I hear him yelling, "Federal Agent! Drop your weapon." 

I'm barely in motion before Mulder starts shooting. I find him lying on the ground, people cowering all around him. 

Oh, fuck. So much for my primary objective to keep him safe. I kneel next to him and roll him onto his back, looking for injuries. Nothing. "Mulder, you all right?" 

His eyes pop open and he sits up. "Gerardi! Where is he?" 

Maybe he suffered a head injury. "Gerardi's not here." 

"I saw him. He was..." 

He stands and I reply, "Mulder, you were shouting and waving your gun around, but Gerardi never showed." 

"No. Gerardi was here and so was Cole. We just missed them." He looks around as if he'll find them behind a post. 

"Mulder, if they had been here, I would have seen them. I'm telling you, Mulder, they weren't here." 

He stomps off and I follow him--right to the security office. I guess we're going to look for them to not be there on the security tapes. 

Standing back, I listen to Mulder directing the security staff. And the bizarre thing is, they just go with it. Never mind that he discharged his weapon without cause in their train station. 

I walk up behind him and murmur, "Can we talk for a second?" 

Stepping away from the security team, he replies, "What's the problem?" 

"Well, you still haven't answered my question about what happened." 

"I told you, I thought I saw Gerardi." 

"Come on, you just about killed somebody back there. We both know I'm covering for you by keeping it between us." 

"All right, what do you want to know?" 

The secrets to the universe. Get a clue, Mulder. "Just the truth. There are things you're not telling me that I need to know." 

"It's just that my ideas usually aren't very popular." 

So far, I'm not too fond of your cases, either. "I told you, I want to believe. But I need a place to start." Proof would be nice. 

"I think that Cole possesses the psychic ability to manipulate sounds and images to generate illusions that are so convincing they can kill. How's that for a theory?" 

Oh, lord. "Puts a whole new spin on virtual reality, but at least it begins to explain some things." Sort of confirms my theory that you hit your head back there. 

The security guard calls us over. "Agent Mulder, see this car in the upper right corner?" 

"Yeah." 

"It wasn't there five minutes ago." 

Mulder looks intently at the screen. "Where is this?" 

The security officer replies, "Track 17. It's a restricted part of the yard." 

We dash out of the station and drive to a deserted part of the train yard. Grabbing flashlights, we enter the freight warehouse. There's a scream from inside. We search until Mulder finds a pair of glasses. Then his flashlight lands on a trail of blood leading to Gerardi. Shit. What if they were in the train station? 

Mulder kneels next to Gerardi. "He's still alive. Put pressure on the wound on the back of his neck and radio for help. NOW!" 

I put pressure on Gerardi's neck and call for assistance. I pause for a second, then look for Mulder. Sorry, Agent Mulder. My job is to keep up with you. 

I follow the sounds of conversation until I make out Mulder saying, "What the military did to you was wrong, but your testimony can help." 

Cole sounds agitated. I step forward, gun raised. 

Mulder looks back at me. "Krycek, put down the gun and get out of here." 

Christ, Mulder... are you stupid? He's got a gun and you don't even have your weapon out. 

"Krycek, I said put down the gun and get out of here!" 

Cole raises his gun, pointing it at Mulder. Dammit. 

Mulder screams, "No!" 

I fire twice and Cole falls. Mulder is next to him, and I step around, trying to secure Cole's weapon. 

I'm aware of Cole murmuring something to Mulder but I'm not fully paying attention, focused on finding the weapon. There's a fucking bible laying on the ground, but no gun... anywhere. 

"He had a gun." I'm completely stupefied. "He was going to shoot you." 

Mulder nods. "You did the right thing." 

The right thing? What the hell are you talking about? "Mulder, where is his fucking gun?" 

Mulder stands next to me. I hear the sound of sirens in the distance. His hand is on my shoulder. "It's okay. I know it's not easy, but you did what you had to." 

Does Mulder evade every question? I turn away from him, thinking, and answer my own question. There was no gun. How could I have been that wrong in what I saw? There are really only two explanations. Either Mulder is correct about this whole case, or I may have some sort of brain damage from my own recent head injury. I wonder which explanation is worse? 

Police and more FBI arrive. Mulder stays with Cole's body and I step outside. 

A paramedic approaches me. "Agent Krycek, you and your partner have come into some information that needs to be returned. Find it and bring it with you when you present your report." 

The paramedic moves off as an officer approaches. What the fuck? What information? And what report? I deflect the officer and look to find the 'paramedic' has disappeared. 

I don't have any information that's 'returnable' so it must be something Mulder picked up when he disappeared. It's either on him--and they cannot seriously expect me to frisk him for it--or... it has to be in the car. 

I tell the officer I will be over directly to give my statement, but I need to get something from the car first. Mulder hasn't emerged yet, so I sit in the passenger side, and unobtrusively start looking while keeping an eye on the door. 

It only takes a few seconds to find the thick file under the floor mat. Realizing this is risky, but my only shot, I casually put the file in my duffel bag stashed in the trunk of the car. Something I will find a way to cover if Mulder should get into my bag. 

I join the police detectives to give my statement as Mulder emerges with two FBI agents. One agent stays with Mulder and the other moves over to me, brushing off the detectives, and asking me to start over. 

Several hours later, we're released to return to D.C. Mulder is pensive and tense most of the way, presumably having noticed the absence of his file. He takes me to the Bureau garage to pick up my car. 

I start to get out, but feel a hand on my arm. "You okay, Krycek?" 

"Fine. See you tomorrow, Mulder." Walking to the back, I tap on the trunk and he releases the catch. 

As I leave the garage, I notice Mulder parked the car, rather than going home. 

* * *

Washington, D.C.  
Thursday, 28 July 1994  
9:13 A.M. 

I'm returning from a breakfast meeting with the Attorney General, when Kimberly hands me my messages. "Sir, A. D. Brenner needs to speak with you. Says it's urgent. He's called twice." 

I nod and she dials. Brenner is the A.D. in charge of the New York City office. 

By the time I'm settled in my chair, the line is blinking. "Skinner." 

"It's Brenner. We had an incident up here with two of yours. Have you already gotten a report?" 

"No. What happened?" 

"An agent shot an unarmed suspect." 

"Without provocation?" 

"Both Mulder and Krycek reported-" 

"Krycek? Alex Krycek?" Fuck, not again. 

"Yeah. Isn't he that guy who was stabbed by the clerk?" 

I snarl at the phone, and demand urgently, "Were there any injuries on our side?" 

"Negative. But the suspect was DOA." 

"Was it justifiable?" Even I'm surprised by how much I worry about Alex. 

"Well, the details as explained by Agent Mulder are a little... bizarre, but he backs up Krycek's shoot." 

"Krycek shot the suspect?" Fuck! 

"Yeah. He said he thought the man was holding a gun, but there wasn't anything except a bible at the scene. Weird, huh?" 

I think I want to kill Mulder. "Are the agents still with you?" 

"No. They didn't seem like flight risks, so I sent them home." He chuckles heartily into the phone. 

"Anything else?" 

"I just wanted you to hear it from me." 

"Thanks." 

I phone Unit Manager Mathis' admin and ask if Alex came in this morning. She tells me he came in, spoke to Mathis and got sent home about fifteen minutes ago. 

Leaving my office, I take a walk to my favorite hall near the library. There's a dead end corridor that only houses some storage rooms. Taking out my cell, I punch in his number. 

"Yeah?" 

"Alex, it's Walt. I just heard about New York. You okay?" 

There's a pause, then, "Fine." He doesn't sound fine, but I know better than to argue with him about it. 

"I've got forty minutes free in a couple of hours. Why don't we meet somewhere?" 

He sighs. "Okay. Where?" 

* * *

Ernie's Bar  
Washington, D.C.  
12:10 P.M. 

Alex is seated at a table in the back. The only other patron is watching a replayed football game on the bar TV. 

A bored bartender looks up at me. 

My eyes flick to Alex. He has a glass in front of him. I order a Coke. 

Sliding in across from Alex, I examine his face. He seems relatively calm, but has dark circles under his eyes. I try to erase the tense A.D. expression into something a little more approachable. "Talk to me, Alex." 

Looking at his hands, he shrugs. "There's nothing to say. I thought he had a gun. He didn't." 

I make him tell me the entire story. Voice dispassionate, he recounts the incident as a series of cold facts. And he won't look at me. "We were in this warehouse behind the tracks. Mulder was talking to the suspect. The suspect sounded agitated. While Mulder was looking at me, the suspect raised a gun, aiming it at Mulder. I believed he was going to shoot Agent Mulder, so I fired my weapon. Twice. Later, we found no gun." 

The only questions I can think to ask would risk putting Alex on the defensive. So instead, I say, "Would you look at me?" 

When Alex looks up, his troubled eyes reveal what his flat tone sought to hide. 

Wincing, I review all the lectures I've given to men upset over violence in the field, but this is Alex. I'm desperate to say the right thing. "It's never easy to kill someone, even under less disturbing circumstances." 

His eyes widen and he quickly glances down at his hands. The set of his jaw is very tense. 

The bartender drops off my Coke. I give him a glare to encourage him to keep his distance. Sipping the drink, I try to figure out how to get my intransigent lover to talk. "I'm easier to talk to than Dr. Reed." 

Alex looks up and gives a faint laugh. "You're easier to talk to than anyone I know, Walter." 

A truly weird thing to say... about me. "So talk." 

He looks pensive for a moment, then drops his head into his hands, sighing. "I feel... inept. How could I mistake a bible for a gun?" 

I put a hand on his arm and squeeze gently. Shaking my head, I try to offer what comfort I can. "Some of Mulder's cases are bizarre... There may be more to it. I don't know what happened yesterday, but I'm inclined to believe that you did your job as well as you could." 

Alex looks back up at me, face taut with resignation. "Even if Mulder's theories about this case are correct, it doesn't change anything. Augustus Cole is dead. And I was stabbed with my own knife less than a month before shooting an unarmed man." 

"That may be true, but you also provided key insights that helped solve the Bingham kidnapping and the Rose Killer case. The Bureau is lucky to have you, Alex. You're an excellent agent, at the beginning of a promising career. You have to believe that you'll get past this." 

He stares at me, his expression blank. After a lengthy silence, he says, "Don't worry about me, Walter. I understand I'm on restricted duty until Dr. Reed has an opportunity to fix me." He waves his hand, as if that takes care of everything. "I'll be fine." 

I wish I believed him, but I can't shake the feeling that something is terribly wrong in his life. "Killing someone isn't going to feel good. It still pains me to think of the first time I killed anyone. And every time since has been almost as bad." 

He opens his mouth as if to say something, then closes it, opting instead for an ambivalent nod. 

Lowering my voice, I tell him, "I'm going to the men's room. Why don't you meet me there in two minutes?" 

Alex looks confused but makes a vague affirmative noise. 

When he enters the restroom, I lock the door behind him and pull him into my arms. He holds himself stiffly for a long time before he sighs and relaxes against me. Without conscious thought, my hand wanders to his hair, stroking it lightly. "I want you to be all right, Alex." 

His body is suddenly limp with fatigue, and he murmurs, "Okay." 

It makes me smile a little. "You know, I was with the Bureau for six years before I had half the visibility you've achieved in your first six months." 

Alex groans against my neck, mumbling, "This is not the kind of notoriety I planned to achieve. I think I'd rather have Mulder's reputation." 

It's my turn to groan. I slide a hand to his neck and massage it through his shirt. 

* * *

Walter's hands on my head and neck help me relax enough to become aware of how tired I am. This is almost more surreal than finding out Cole was unarmed. 

At one point, I almost laughed out loud. It would have been a completely mirthless laugh, but hearing Walter try to comfort me about killing someone was just too absurd. But it's also painful, clearly illustrating his misconceptions about me. 

The strangest thing is I almost told him the truth back at the table. A dangerous impulse I don't understand. Confessing to Walter is not in the game plan. 

And now I'm going through the motions of letting him comfort me. Suddenly, I realize it's not just an act. I am comforted by having him here... by being in his arms. Looking back over the last couple months, I see that my interaction with him is always genuine. The most real I have been in over ten years. 

It's frighteningly clear to me that this has to end. Probably, the sooner the better. 

I wrap an arm around his waist wondering how long I can put it off. 

I pull back enough to look at him. His expression shifts to one of concern and it occurs to me that he can probably see some distress on my face. And misunderstands it. He's so worried about my anxiety over killing Augustus Cole and, the irony is, I have absolutely none. 

Not wanting to talk about it anymore--convinced the next time he asks, I am going to tell him the truth--I close the short distance and kiss him lightly. Walter responds very passionately, hand cupping the back of my head as his tongue caresses mine. 

The kiss goes on for a long time. We seem to break away at the same moment. Resting a hand on Walter's chest, I ask, "When can I see you?" I once said I would never push him, but now that I sense the end, I'm not sure I can keep that promise. 

"I'll call you tomorrow but, Alex, call me if you need anything. Okay?" 

I nod. "Thanks, Walter." 

Twenty minutes later, I arrive back at my apartment to find four messages. The first from Mathis, advising me of the hearing next Tuesday. The next from Dr. Reed's admin with an appointment for Wednesday. A vague message from Mulder asking me to call. And an unidentified, raspy voice--that can only belong to Spender--telling me to call. 

I sit heavily on the couch and wish I could avoid them all. 

Since I cannot do anything about Dr. Reed, I take care of the next most unpleasant thing and call Spender. 

"Did you find the file?" 

"Yes. I have it." And I reviewed it last night. It completely confirms Salvatore Matola's story, and then some. 

There's a prolonged inhalation. "Does Mulder suspect anything?" 

"Not that I can tell." 

"I need a summary of the current situation with Mulder and any recommendations. Bring that and the file with you tomorrow." 

Spender gives me an address and instructions to arrive at 10:00 A.M. 

Then I call Mulder. He says he wants to talk to me. I try to find out why. He's evasively insistent and I agree to meet him at a bar in Alexandria in one hour. Why do people want to talk to me in bars? 

* * *

Alexandria, VA  
8:55 P.M. 

I arrive to find Mulder seated at the bar, apparently already having finished a couple shots of tequila. 

Mulder looks up at me. "Tequila okay?" 

"Yeah, fine." I wonder what this is all about. 

He directs the bartender to deliver the shots to a booth near the back door. 

I slide in across from him. "What's going on, Mulder?" 

"Nothing sinister, Krycek. I heard there's a hearing Tuesday. I don't think you have anything to worry about." 

"Well, that's, uh, good to know." I guess. 

Mulder looks at me for a moment, then sighs. "When Cole lifted the, uh, gun, did you feel anything unusual?" 

"What?" 

He leans forward, suddenly much more intense. "Any tingling, headache... any physical sensations at all?" 

I remind myself to play nicely with others. "No. Why?" 

Mulder ignores my question. "Okay, nothing physical. How about psychological? Did things feel surreal?" 

"No, Mulder." I don't want to be one of your extreme possibilities, Spooky. "Why are you asking these questions?" 

"With Cole and the doctors dead, you were the last person to experience the effects of their research." 

I try not to flinch. Thanks for the reminder, Mulder. I still half wonder if the problem isn't that my head is fucked up from that injury. "Well, it happened to you, too--in the train station--did you experience anything... weird?" 

He looks mildly peeved and shrugs. "Look, do you need to talk about what happened?" 

Now this is about my need to talk? I don't think so. "No. I'd rather not. Let's talk about something else." I'd rather leave, but I'm supposed to be getting him to trust me. That does not, however, include reliving the situation with Cole. 

"Okay." 

The conversation rambles for a little while, then we talk about how Mulder got started with the X-Files. I decide this is a good opportunity to gather some intelligence on Agent Mulder, and try unobtrusively to encourage him. 

It takes a little bit, but he eventually talks about the 'abduction' of his sister. I pretend to buy into the whole alien thing and he continues. Apparently he's had just enough tequila to loosen him up and he tells me about how hard it was to lose his sister. And where his desire to find her has led him. 

And somewhere in the middle of that conversation, I start seriously disliking one Agent Fox William Mulder. 

* * *

Washington, D.C.  
Friday, 29 July 1994  
10:05 A.M. 

At 10:05 A.M. I'm ushered into a large conference room to find Spender and two other men seated at the head of the table. I was relieved of both the file and report a couple minutes ago, both lay open in front of him. 

This should be routine. A complete no-brainer, but something feels wrong. 

Spender, with his ever present cigarette, asks, "Do you know where he got this?" 

"Not yet. But he got it. Which means he's either found another source, or another source has found him. Sir, if I can recommend something. You'll see that I have outlined several countermeasures." The sense of wrongness intensifies and my brain drifts to Walter. I feel like I'm harming him in some way. But it makes no sense. This report is about Mulder, not Walter. 

"What about Scully?" 

Ah, yes. The good doctor. I was clearly not given enough information about her. "Reassigning them to other areas seems to have only strengthened their determination. Scully's a problem. A much larger problem than you described." There it is again. The clear feeling that I've said the wrong thing. What the hell? 

"Every problem has a solution." He crushes out his cigarette. 

Except I don't think your solutions have historically worked very well with Mulder. Everything you do seems to make him more determined. 

I turn and leave the conference room, feeling like I have really screwed up--worse than getting stabbed by Roberts or shooting Cole. Something else to be confused about. If anything, these inexplicable emotions reinforce the need to end my contact with Walter. 

* * *

Falls Church, VA  
Saturday, 30 July 1994  
2:33 P.M. 

The brisk double knock on the door is becoming recognizable as Walter's. I find him holding a small paper bag. He hands it to me as he steps into the apartment. The bag is cold to the touch. 

I catch myself smiling as I look at him. "Ice cream?" It occurs to me that he has never come here without something in his hands. 

"Yeah," he mutters, wrapping an arm around my waist and pressing me to his chest for a kiss. The tip of his tongue teases mine before he releases me, with a final nibble on my temple. 

Walter follows me to the kitchen, where I refrigerate the Ben & Jerry's Coffee Heath Bar Crunch. Leaning casually against the counter, in jeans and a green corduroy shirt, his face assumes a meaningful expression I recognize from the office. "The word in the halls of the Hoover is that it was a good shoot, which means unless something unexpected comes out on Tuesday, you'll be back on the job." 

I nod my head and cross my arms over my chest. It wouldn't matter if it was a good shoot or not, I would still be back at work. Everything about my career at the FBI seems contrived to me. From my placement straight out of the academy at headquarters in the Violent Crimes section, to the unquestioned approval of the 302 for the Grissom investigation. Judging by Dr. Reed's reactions, probably even passing the initial psych profile. 

But what troubles me is the compulsion to tell Walter. That would be a very bad idea. I realize I'm rubbing my forehead and drop my hand. 

Misunderstanding my angst, Walter puts a hand on my shoulder. "You're going to get through this, Alex." His eyes meet mine, his face an entreaty. I can hear the unspoken words 'talk to me.' 

I'm worried about getting through this conversation. I hate that he's concerned about me. Because I have no way to stop it. At least, not without telling him the truth. God, what would Walter do with the truth? 

How am I going to do this? "I know, Walter. It just feels," I shrug, "out of control, I guess." Half talking to myself, I continue, "I think I got on the wrong road somewhere, but I don't even know when." And that's as much truth as I can give you. 

He watches me solemnly for a while, as if waiting for me to finish. 

I sigh. "Walter, I'll be fine. I'm just walking on unfamiliar ground." And if I were not agonizing over how to end this relationship, and at the same time not end it, you wouldn't think there was anything wrong with me at all. I'm missing you and you're not even gone yet. 

As the thought sinks in, I reflexively move closer to him, then abort the movement. Yeah, I've slipped right off the edge... completely lost it. Every minute I spend with him makes it clearer that this has to end. 

Walter shifts closer, completing the move I halted, bringing our bodies within a few inches. "You know I'll do whatever I can to help." It's not a question. His hands come up behind me and he massages my shoulders. 

Sighing, I drop my head onto his shoulder and murmur, "I know, Walter. It will be over soon." I wrap an arm around his waist before continuing, "Let's not talk about this. It's pointless." And I cannot deal with you trying to comfort me over something that doesn't even bother me, because I'm not who you think I am. 

"All right," he replies in a soothing, deep voice. "Do you want to lie down? I'll give you a real massage." 

Turning my head, I briefly press my lips to the side of his neck, then straighten up. "I always like having your hands on me," I smile, "but I think my tension levels are okay." 

Still massaging my shoulders, he gives me a wry grin. "What would you like to do this afternoon, Alex?" 

"I'm just glad you're here." Not what I intended to say. I pass my hand over my face and rub my forehead. "I don't care, Walter." 

A hint of a frown shadows his face, but it's gone quickly. He opens cabinets until he locates bowls. Retrieving the ice cream from the freezer, he spoons some into a bowl and passes it to me. The he serves up another and leads the way to the living room. 

I stare at the bowl for a few seconds, then follow him. Everything has become so strange I might as well go with it. What the hell, when my brain goes on vacation, I will eat ice cream. Makes perfect sense. 

I think my life needs to be reclassified as an X-File. 

Instead of sitting next to him on the couch, I sit across from him on the coffee table with my knees between his. 

Walter kicks off his shoes and puts his feet on the table nuzzled against my hips. It's an oddly casual gesture for this very formal man. There's a playful look on his face, like a kid eating his ice cream, but he's doing it deliberately. For my benefit, I think, though I can't understand why. 

"Have you been back on your bike since the hospital?" 

"A couple times. Not as much as I'd like." I eat another spoon of the ice cream, then shift the bowl to the other hand. Sliding my fingers under his pant leg, I pull his sock down and wrap my hand around his ankle. Judging by the temperature of his skin, my fingers are very cold. 

My lips twitch with suppressed laughter as Walter's eyes open wide. But he doesn't flinch. "I'd still like to ride with you... some weekend morning." 

"I... I would like that, Walter." I would. It's just not going to happen. I glance down. My fingers are rapidly warming. I move my hand a little higher to massage the back of his calf. I wonder why we're sitting here eating ice cream instead of having sex. Probably because I haven't jumped him yet. I suddenly realize how much more aggressive I am about initiating sex. Maybe Walter's just humoring me. I catch myself frowning. 

His fingers appear on my brow, smoothing, but he doesn't ask me to explain. When the ice cream is gone, he pulls me onto his lap, cold lips nuzzling the hair over my ear. I shiver, in part from the cold and from the awareness that I cannot just end our relationship and continue on with everything else. I have to get out of the Bureau, too. 

My chain-smoking patron will make getting out harder. I'm not likely to get fired, so I guess I'm going to have to seriously screw up. Blow my cover. 

Knowing what it will take makes it easier, but I still don't want to do it. Turning my head, I capture Walter's mouth. 

His hands explore my back, then my thighs. Easily shifting my body weight, he repositions me so my back is against his chest, our legs in parallel V's. His strong fingers gently rub and squeeze my chest. The way he touches me now--with so much emotion--he's sharing himself. I can't even see his face, but I know he's experiencing intense feelings... about me. 

But it's not real, because it's not me. I have lied about everything I am. I should stop him and tell him. But if I tell the truth, I will lose him anyway. 

Even as my mind agonizes over the consequences of my choices, my body responds eagerly, tamed to his touch. I arch into his hands, rubbing against him, grinding my ass against his groin. 

I know I should stop this, but I don't know how to make sense of what I feel. Every moment that passes that I don't tell him, I feel like I'm taking something from him. And I don't understand what it means. For the first time in my life, I wish I had some better concept of 'right,' so I could find a way to fix this. Because it feels so wrong. 

It seems like a betrayal--staying pressed up against him, moaning under his caressing hands. But I am going to lose, no matter which choice I make, and I need this now... Need him. 

His fingers open the buttons of my fly, reaching inside to free my cock. He gives a soft growl of pleasure as he begins to stroke me. 

Helplessly, I moan and arch into his hand. Desperate to feel the heat of his skin burning against mine, I writhe on his lap--as if by rubbing against him, the clothing between us will disintegrate. 

Walter's breathing is already heavy. I feel his erection under my thigh, and I grind against it. He rocks me slightly with a motion from his hips. His thumb brushes across the tip of my cock, smearing the wetness. His other hand slips under my T-shirt and rubs my chest. I struggle to breathe through the haze of pleasure. 

"Just touching your cock," he struggles for air, "is turning me on so much." 

The way he holds it in his large hand makes me feel like it belongs to him. Pressing me tightly to his chest, he gets very serious about jacking me off. 

I used to pride myself on my restraint but my control vanishes when he touches me. My balls pull up tight to my body and I feel the tell-tale tingling at the base of my spine. Does he know how close I already am? I wiggle against the restraining arm, finding myself securely held. My hips thrust against his hand. Is this really what he wants? 

Between gasping breaths, I manage to say, "Walter... tell me... what you want." 

"Come for me," he rasps, rubbing my cock harder and faster. 

My last distressed thought is that his words, more than his hand, are what bring me off. Then the orgasm rips through me and I'm lost to anything but the fire in my body and the warm hand pumping my cock. 

Awareness gradually returns and I find he's still holding me. His hand cupped gently around my shrinking cock, he lightly kisses the back of my neck. "I really enjoyed that, although you came fairly close to breaking my nose." I feel more than hear his soft chuckle. 

I've turned into a boneless, gasping lump resting against his chest. Too satiated to care about anything but the warmth of the body beneath me. 

Taking a few moments to catch my breath, I eventually pluck at the arm across my chest so I can sit forward. 

His arms wrap tighter around my waist. "There's no rush, Alex. I like holding you." 

What bothers me, Walter, is that I like you holding me. 

I've never been in a situation like this and I don't know how I should respond. Settling back against his chest, I let my hands rest on his forearms. 

When I'm entirely too comfortable just being held, I wiggle against his arm, murmuring, "I need to touch you..." 

Walter's powerful arms release me. 

Pulling off my T-shirt, I wipe the semen off my body and some off his hand, then tuck my cock back in my jeans, leaving them unbuttoned. I stand, only to find my knees wobbly, so I quickly turn and straddle his lap. 

His expression is calm, but his eyes are smoldering chocolate. I touch the side of his face lightly and, on impulse, kiss the nearly offended nose. Surprised at myself, I move to more familiar territory and press my lips to his. My tongue teases at the softness of his mouth while my fingers make short work of the buttons on his shirt. My hands part the fabric and then I'm caressing the planes of his chest. 

I murmur against his lips, "Thank you, Walt." 

"My pleasure," he replies in a very husky tone. 

My fingers tease his nipples as I move my lips to the side of his neck. Kissing my way down to his collarbone, I try to commit the feel of him to memory... the taste of him. The thick tendon at the side of his neck rolls under my tongue, and I nip it lightly with my teeth. 

I bring my hands up to push the shirt off his shoulders, moving my lips across the bared skin. 

Walter sighs and very uncharacteristically closes his eyes. His hands are at his sides, offering no interference. 

I bring my hands up to his face, carefully remove his glasses, then trace the intricacies of his features with my fingertips. For some reason, I feel... sad, I guess. Strange. 

His eyes blink open and he watches me intently for a moment, with an affectionate expression. Then his heavy lids close again. I lightly brush my thumbs across his closed eyes, sighing quietly. 

Shaking off the inexplicable surge of feelings, I cup the back of his head and, with a gentle massaging motion, encourage him to relax his neck. My lips and tongue explore the shape of his ear while I tip his head and let it rest on the back of the sofa. His lips quirk into a mellow smile. 

I kiss a path down the front of his throat, to the little hollow right above his collarbone, while I work his arm out of the sleeve of his shirt. Leaning over, my mouth finds the contours of his biceps, down to his elbow, before I lift his hand and bring it to my lips. Following the lines on his palm with my tongue, I work my way to his fingers, sucking each one individually into my mouth. He utters a faint groan. 

I'm filled with the taste of him--clean and slightly salty. Taking a shuddering breath--feeling entirely too aroused by touching him--I lower his hand and move to the other side. Again working the shirt off his arm, then exploring the skin, working my way to his hand. 

Unable to go any further in this position, I shift my legs between his and slide to the floor between his knees. Leaning up, I bring my mouth to his chest and set about learning every taste and texture. I rub my cheek against his chest, feeling the hair tickle my skin, then capture a nipple in my mouth. I suck on it until it's hard, then roll it against my tongue. 

When he speaks, his voice is low and aroused. "It's a good thing I'm more patient than you are." 

Laughing softly, I think he's absolutely correct. 

Time is meaningless as I thoroughly explore his chest, returning again and again to his nipples. Then I move down, loosening his belt and opening his pants so I can explore his navel and abdomen. 

Walter lifts his hips, encouraging me to remove his pants. I free his hard cock from his briefs then quickly get rid of his clothes. I'm suddenly distracted by his feet. He has nice feet. I pause to rub them, then lean down to pass my tongue across the arch of each foot. 

"Mmm," he whispers, his body slumping a bit on the couch. 

Abandoning his feet, I kneel up between his legs. Unable to resist, I pass my tongue over the tip of his cock, enjoying his taste before moving back to his abdomen. My lips seek out the different texture of the scars on his stomach. 

Muttering, "Patience... what patience?" he strokes my shoulder idly with the tips of his fingers. I smile against his skin. 

The scent from his groin--slightly muskier and spicy--distracts me and makes it hard to focus. Giving up the battle, I catch myself moaning as I move my head down to his crotch. 

"Oh yeah," he says in breathless encouragement. 

Using long sweeping strokes of my tongue, I lavish attention on his cock. I want him in my mouth, but I wait, instead swirling my tongue around the head, then licking the length of him again. 

Walter's hips tense, as if he's restraining himself. 

Breathing hard, I pull back and lift his legs, setting his feet on the coffee table behind me. He makes a sound that is almost a whimper. My hands are at his hips, pulling slightly, encouraging him to slide down the sofa until his ass is resting at the edge. 

Kneeling between his legs, I stroke my hand along the inside of one thigh, then follow it with my mouth, tasting him until my cheek brushes against his balls. Switching to the other leg, I mark the same path until, once again, my cheek is brushing against his scrotum. 

Expecting him to rush me along, I am surprised by his placidness. Only his accelerated breathing gives away his need. 

Turning my head, I pull one of his balls into my mouth. I apply a little bit of suction then explore the contours with my tongue. Releasing it, I capture the other, licking it and tasting his skin. 

I breathe deeply, enjoying his scent, then transfer his balls into my hand. Caressing with my fingers, I lift them up slightly and move my mouth further down. I tongue the sensitive spot just behind his scrotum. I'm so close to his anus... I need to rim him. It's a little harder in this position. I nudge his leg then bring my other hand up, fingertips stroking the sensitive opening. 

As if he is reading my mind, he lifts his butt and shifts further forward on the couch. 

Sighing with pleasure, I shift my position to bring my head a little lower. This draws the denim of my jeans tightly across my cock, making me aware of the hard throbbing ache. I get so turned on just touching him. 

My tongue flicks out to stroke the puckered skin. 

A long slow moan comes from deep in his chest. 

The hand still holding his balls trembles with my desire for him, as I work my tongue feverishly over his anus. I explore the opening, feeling it relax for me so I can press my tongue inside. The angle is different and I can only press in a little. 

I work the tip of my tongue in his ass until my tongue starts to get sore, then resume licking his anus. 

"Oh, god, Alex." 

I feel like I'm going crazy--like there's not enough of him to satisfy my need to touch... to taste. 

Backing off, I thoroughly wet one finger with saliva and work it carefully into his already slick asshole. I've only done this with him once, but I remember exactly where his prostate is. I rub it with the tip of my finger. 

Suddenly, Walter's tightly held control is gone. His body shifts on the couch and his hips begin thrusting into the air. 

I kneel up to take his cock in my mouth. 

I think to take it slow, but at the first taste of his pre-cum, I lose patience and take him all the way down. 

In about a millisecond, he's fucking my face, a hoarse groan matching the rhythm of his thrusts. His hand grasps along my body until it finds a hold in my hair. 

I feel a deep satisfaction that resonates in my cock, seeing him destroyed with pleasure. 

Applying only suction and pressure, I let him control the penetration of his cock--let him decide when to send the head sliding into my throat. 

The taste and feel of his hard cock fucking my mouth is so consuming, it's hard to concentrate. Added to that is the mind-numbing effect of the pull on my hair. But I manage to keep my finger rubbing continuously against his prostate. 

Walter's movements become less coordinated. The hand in my hair pulls hard enough to hurt. Then with a loud, low cry, his body tenses and he begins to come in my throat. 

I swallow convulsively, struggling to back off a little so I can taste him as his orgasm runs its course. As the spasms subside into trembling, I remove the pressure from his prostate and slowly slide my finger out of his ass. 

His body twitches then completely relaxes onto the sofa. Fingers release my hair. Still trying to catch his breath, he mumbles, "Sorry." 

I don't know what he's apologizing for, but I'm not quite willing to release his cock yet, so I stroke his thigh lightly to reassure him. Then I lick his cock clean, enjoying the occasional twitches and tremors in his body. 

Eventually, I let it slide out of my mouth, then crawl under one of his legs so I can stand. Getting to my feet causes my jeans to rasp almost painfully against my cock. I bite my lip briefly before moving into the kitchen. 

I wash up quickly, then grab a glass of water and take it to Walter. His dazed eyes blink at me, then his glance wanders south. "You're hard again," he says in a languid voice. 

Sitting next to him, I nuzzle my face near his armpit. My cock throbs as my brain processes his scent. I murmur against his skin, "Yeah, well... touching you gets me hot." I hand him the water and contemplate how urgent my state of arousal is. Pretty damned exigent, actually. 

Walter can barely hold the glass of water. I smile thinking how my ministrations brought him to this boneless state. 

I stand up and shuck my jeans, quickly deciding what to do. Walter likes a little bit of a show. I lie back on the couch and let one leg rest on his lap, hooking the other over the back of the couch. I'm completely open to his gaze. 

I wrap my hand around my cock, feeling it pulse. This isn't going to take long. 

Looking intently at Walter, I pump my hand on my cock and quietly say, "The night we talked while you were in Kansas City... you told me to think about you fucking my face while I beat off." 

Walter's mouth falls open in dazed astonishment. 

My eyes shut briefly as sensation and memories assault my senses. I take a shuddering breath and continue, "I did. As soon as you hung up, I lay on the couch--just like this--and jerked off." Gasping, my back arches as my orgasm gets closer. 

It becomes hard to talk, my words getting terse and breathless. "Thought about... you holding my head... shoving your cock down my throat." I groan, thrusting up into my hand. "Thought about... way... you taste... smell." The tingle in my spine tells me I have only seconds. "I get... so hard touching... you, Walt." My orgasm rips through me as I say his name. Hips jerking, back arching, I come on my stomach and chest. 

His fingers tease my belly, as my brain comes back to me. Just like the first time I jacked off for him, he dabs at my semen and touches it to his lips, his eyes never leaving my face. Then he presses those fingers to my lips. 

I suck them into my mouth, searching for the taste of his skin beneath my salty semen. 

Walter says with a sensual smile, "You know I would have taken care of your hard-on for you, but I always appreciate the show." 

Releasing his fingers, I reply, "Mm hmm... It's better with you here, and I like entertaining you." 

He taps his chest with his hand and I immediately shift to rest my head over his heart. My hands stroke his skin, then I just hold on to him. I feel completely relaxed and completely in this moment. I'm grateful to have put all the worrisome problems out of sight. For a little while. 

* * *

Falls Church, VA  
Sunday, 31 July 1994  
9:14 A.M. 

I'm supposed to meet with Morgan at noon today. He wouldn't give me much detail about the job he has for me, but the 'consulting' fee he offered was huge. I'm expecting a proportional degree of difficulty. 

The timing of this job is convenient. I need to talk to Morgan anyway. To establish some contingency plans for when this situation goes south. Morgan could be more than useful. I should have addressed these issues long before now. 

But, before I see him, I need to take care of a few more prosaic matters. Like storing a few things and getting a couple safe-deposit boxes. I have to struggle to keep my thoughts away from Walter as I carefully work my way through the apartment. I pick out the things I need to have. 

The primary thing is the locked case from my closet with my weapons. 

Then, I look for the things I don't want to lose. There's surprisingly very little. A couple books and an envelope. 

For some reason, I open the envelope and pull out two photos. My eyes trace the details in the first. Then, reluctantly, I look at the second. After a few moments, I thrust them both into their envelope. 

I must be feeling masochistic today. 

* * *

Washington, D.C.  
Wednesday, 3 August 1994  
8:52 A.M. 

Traffic on the beltway was unusually light this morning, and I arrive at Dr. Reed's a couple minutes early. While sitting in one of the two chairs in her small waiting room, I consider yesterday's hearing. As expected, everything went off without a hitch. Lots of procedures and questions but, at the end, the shooting was ruled justifiable, and I was returned to normal duty. 

Now for the hard part. The shrink. I have a feeling I barely got past her after the stabbing. I wonder what she's going to do to me over the death of Augustus Cole. 

Dr. Reed appears and ushers me into her office. As she takes her seat, she gives me a chagrinned smile. "I've seen entirely too much of you this past month." 

"On this point, I think we are in complete agreement." I'd be perfectly happy to never see you again. 

She chuckles, removing a piece of lint from her tie. This one I recognize as Snoopy on his doghouse. "I assume this is the first time you've ever killed a man, Agent Krycek?" 

No, doctor. I lost count a few years ago. I glance down at my hands and briefly bite my lower lip. I will not laugh. "Yes." 

"Agent Mulder tells me you were very upset at the scene. Please tell me about that." 

Mulder, is there any way you could keep your mouth shut? I rub my hand over my face, as if I can scrub away the irritation. "Doctor, I don't even know what you're asking. I shot a man I thought had a gun pointed at another agent. Therefore, I expected to find a gun. There wasn't one. It was a little frantic for a while, but I wasn't running around hysterically pulling my hair out." 

She glares at me for a moment, apparently waiting for me to say something. I haven't a clue what she would find appropriate. Finally, she sighs and asks, "Well, how do you feel about that, Agent Krycek?" 

"About what? Getting upset? I think it was a perfectly normal reaction." 

Dr. Reed drums her fingertips on her notepad, looking annoyed. "Are you being obtuse on purpose? I think you're bright enough to figure out what these questions mean." 

I really would like to strangle this woman. "No, doctor, I am not being deliberately obtuse. I am, however, quite literal. As I'm sure you've both observed and noted. So how do I feel about what exactly?" 

Trying to suppress an eye roll, she replies, "How do you feel about shooting an unarmed man?" 

"I find it disturbing." That seems like an okay response. 

"Agent Krycek, why don't you relax your barriers just a bit and just talk to me about that? Killing an unarmed man..." 

"I..." I'm floundering. I don't have any feelings about it at all, and I'm not sure which ones I should manufacture. "I wish it hadn't happened." I hear people say that a lot. 

"Have you been thinking about Mr. Cole these past few days?" 

Not unless someone brings it up, which happens way too frequently in my opinion. "Sometimes." 

"Tell me what you think when you think about him." 

"I think it must have been a real bitch to not have slept for 24 years." 

She glances at the window for a moment. "Describe how the shooting fits within your own personal moral beliefs." 

I have no idea what she's talking about. "Well, I... I mean..." I break off and glance at my hands. I don't understand the question, but I think telling her that would be a bad idea. 

She eyes me thoughtfully. "Do you consider killing Cole a mistake?" 

"Yes, it was a mistake." 

"Do you believe taking Cole's life under these circumstances was morally wrong?" 

I'm confused again. "Doctor, I'm not sure I understand the meaning behind your question, but I believe I was performing my duty as an FBI agent in protecting another agent. I don't know how I could consider that morally wrong." The problem is, I don't know if it should be morally wrong or not. 

"How do you deal with your emotions when you're upset?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"If you're angry at someone or something, how do you cope with the feeling? Do you go someplace quiet to think, stop at a bar for a few drinks, call up a friend to chat, or write in a journal?" 

I struggle to think of the last time I got angry. Oh, yeah. Jimmy. Hit him over the head with my gun, took care of the hit, then left him unconscious in a parking lot. I wonder what the doctor would think of that. Better come up with something else. "I, uh, don't get angry very often. I suppose I go riding or something." 

"Motorcycle?" 

"Bicycle." 

"Has your male friend been a source of support for you?" 

"Yes." Oops. It belatedly occurs to me that I was supposed to answer as if I were seeing Nick. 

"Any changes in your eating or sleep habits?" 

Why is this woman so obsessed with my bedtime and breakfast menu? "Normal now. Didn't sleep well or eat much for a couple of days." Because I thought I must truly have brain damage to see a gun where there was actually a bible. 

"Are you getting enough exercise?" 

"Yes." 

"Do you think the world might be a better place if something happened to you?" 

My brain doesn't work this way, doctor. I try to come up with the right thing to say. "No." 

"Have you thought about harming yourself in any way?" 

Other than leaving Walter? "No." 

"Yours is a profession where mistakes are made. Some of them will affect life and death. It's like an E.R. doctor... not all your judgment calls will be perfect. Do you think you can live with your mistakes, Agent?" 

"I don't believe I've been given a choice in the matter. You choose your path, and live with it." 

She shakes her head, obviously appalled at the state of my emotional health. I can live with that, too. 

I manage to make it through the rest of the visit without any more disastrous questions. I think she's given up. 

Leaving her office, I head out in search of Mulder. Mathis informed me yesterday that I am semi-officially assigned to continue working with him. 

Rounding the corner, I see Spender stepping out of one of the section chief's office, talking with a couple of unit managers. I barely manage to keep my feet in motion and continue past him. His eyes flick to me briefly, betraying nothing. As I walk away, I hear him refer to an upcoming meeting with Skinner. 

What the hell is he doing here, and why would he be meeting with Walter? When I reach a deserted hallway, I stop to consider what this could mean. 

I had thought Walter would have a problem with me being a double agent. But maybe he's already aware of my association with Spender. If that's the case, why hasn't he said anything? It doesn't make sense. Is Walter also working for Spender... and the Consortium? 

Before I can get too caught up in my confusion over Spender's presence, Mulder finds me and we move back to his desk. 

Mulder's been asked to review one of BSU's profiles and, lucky me, I get to help. 

We spend the entire morning reviewing the case and their preliminary profile, then head out to pick up lunch. But my mind keeps returning to Spender's presence at the FBI. 

With case file in hand, and bags from two take-out restaurants, we move into the Bureau break-room. Mulder is apparently unsatisfied with his lunch choice and tries to subversively switch my chicken curry for his broccoli beef. I catch him at it and switch them back. The case file is ignored as a debate ensues about the merits of Chinese versus Indian cuisine. Eventually, I turn my attention back to the case, reading the evidence team's report, as Mulder continues to chatter. 

When Mulder stops speaking, I glance up to find him looking at the doorway. I casually look over to see Walter, turned slightly away, in the hallway having an intense conversation with Robert Baker. Looking back at Mulder, I realize he's staring at Skinner's ass. Baker and Skinner move on, and I wonder if it's possible to lodge a plastic fork in someone's skull. 

That's mine, Agent Spooky. I'd recommend you keep your hands and eyes off. 

Fuck. Feeling jealous and possessive is really not good. I viciously stab my chicken, breaking one of the plastic fork tines. I can't put off ending this for much longer. 

I think about Spender again. I don't understand what's going on, but I cannot believe Walter would have anything to do with him. Why would anyone interact with Spender unless they absolutely had to? 

So Walter must have to see Spender. But why? It makes me wonder what Spender's done to Walter... or how he's manipulating him. 

I didn't think it was possible for me to hate Spender any more than I already do. 

* * *

Washington, D.C.  
Thursday, 4 August 1994 

There's a knife shop two doors down from my barbershop. After getting my hair cut, I stop in, thinking to get a gift for Alex. I describe his knife to a male clerk about my age, and he shows me some that are similar. They're very serviceable weapons. One looks quite a bit like the one he lost. But they aren't what I want to give him. I shake off the clerk and wander around on my own. Unable to figure out what I'm looking for, I depart. 

I'm not just trying to replace his knife, I'm trying to... What am I trying to do? Express my appreciation for our relationship? 

I leave work at a reasonable hour and try a different shop. A pretty Hispanic girl helps me. She shows me similar knives, then tells me these aren't what I'm looking for. Taking her time, she draws me out until I am able to articulate that I want an attractive knife... one that has an artistic quality. She nods thoughtfully and retrieves a velvet lined tray from under a counter. Although there are a dozen knives, my eyes immediately go to one of them. It's not all that different from other knives I've seen, but the lines of it are attractively angled and there's an elegant notched pattern in the grip. It's quite beautiful. The maker is Solingen, one of the better forgers. 

I handle it until I am certain it's as usable as the one he lost. 

Then I purchase the knife, a belt sheath like the one he uses, and a black leather case. The young clerk wraps it for me in simple red paper with a black bow. 

Only after I leave the store do I realize I'm nervous. What am I going to say to him? I want him to understand how important he's become to me, but I don't want to scare him off. I want to tell him I'm planning to leave Sharon, but what if he thinks it's a benefit that I'm not really available? Assuming he even believes me. How many married men have said 'I'm leaving my wife,' and how many actually left? 

* * *

Falls Church, VA  
Sunday, 7 August 1994  
11:42 P.M. 

I step into my apartment, amazed at how exhausting a day of doing nothing can be. There is certainly some entertainment value in working with Mulder. He gets pulled into the weirdest cases. Of course, I'd rather be doing almost anything other than sitting on my ass listening to Mulder negotiate a hostage situation with a nut who thinks aliens are after him. I think the high point of my day was watching Agent Scully muscle her way into the fray and start giving orders. 

Walking to my bedroom, I strip off my clothes and let my mind wander to more interesting topics. 

Walter. 

He called yesterday, asking if he could see me on Monday. He plans to stay the night. Part of me knows it would be better to start distancing myself from him. But I just don't want to... I like having him here. 

As usual, thinking of Walter for any amount of time makes me hard. I'm too tired to do anything other than appreciate the sexual energy. I collapse into bed thinking about tomorrow night. 

* * *

Washington, D.C.  
Monday, 8 August 1994 

I wanted to spend the night with Alex, so I told Sharon I was doing a two-day seminar at Quantico and getting a room there. All it would take is one phone call to reveal the lie, but I need to be with him tonight. 

I leave the Bureau a little after 9:00 P.M. Driving to Alex's, I try again to understand what I am doing and why. Alex is becoming an important part of my life. I want to make all the complications evaporate, so we can spend time together without subterfuge. But he's a man and my subordinate. Our relationship will never be in the open or easy, but I want... I want him to know that I'm with him, not anyone else. 

My fears about what to say to him are all a smokescreen. The real issue is: what if he doesn't feel the same way about me? Every ounce of logic tells me this could be just sex for him. Deep inside, I believe the caring is mutual, but I'm afraid to find out I'm wrong. 

I am such a wuss sometimes. Learned to control fear in the jungles of 'Nam, but this... facing one young man with a clear statement about my feelings... Fuck. 

Giving myself a mental kick in the ass, I resolve to just do it and not worry about it. Take the risk and live with the consequences. 

Still, standing at his door holding a small wrapped package, I'm tempted not to ring the bell. To slip away and not step off this particular cliff. 

I see his face in my mind's eye... his passionate expression filled with lust and need and feelings too intense to put into words. My finger presses the buzzer. 

When he opens the door, my feet won't move, so I just stand there looking at him. 

Alex eyes me curiously. "Walter?" 

Shaking my head, I step inside. As soon as I hear the snick of the door behind me, I pull him into my arms. My mouth finds his and I kiss him as if it's our last kiss in this lifetime. 

He melts against my body, mouth open and yielding to me. One arm wraps around my waist, the other around my shoulders. His faint moan is lost in our mouths. 

When his hips press against me, I have to fight to keep my own from responding. That is not what tonight is about. I break the kiss and meet his eyes, just gazing into the clear green intensity. 

A slight frown creases his forehead. His thumb touches my lower lip as he quietly asks, "What?" 

I kiss the faint mole on his right cheek. "I brought you a present." After forcing myself calm, I step away and into the living room. Taking a seat on the couch, I gesture for him to join me. 

He slowly sits next to me, a look of confusion on his face. "A what?" 

"A gift." I pass him the small paper bag. "Open it." I hope he likes it. 

With a distinct frown and a look of confusion, he inspects the bag, then looks inside. Frowning even more, he draws out the red wrapped package and sets it on his leg. He fingers the black bow. 

Looking at me with a complete lack of comprehension, he asks, "This is for me?" 

Christ, you'd think no one had ever given him a present before. I fervently hope that's not true. Feeling a twinge behind my eyes, I look away for a moment to push away the emotion. "Yes, it's for you." 

Forehead creased again, he stares at the package. After a hesitation, he tugs at the end of the ribbon, releasing the bow and removing it. He looks at the ribbon for a second before setting it on the coffee table. 

He contemplates the package, then looks at me. "I just take this stuff off, right?" 

I'm starting to wonder if I'm going to live through this moment. Fighting off impatience, trepidation and some softer feeling that's terrifying me, I reply, "Yes. Just tear it off and open the box." 

"Hmm." With intense concentration he removes the red paper, contemplates it and sets it on the table. He opens the plain white box and pulls out the belt sheath, his expression suddenly blank. Then he extracts the leather case and sets the packaging aside. 

Opening the case, a look of astonishment passes over his face and he glances up at me. "You got this for me?" His expression is open, earnest, almost vulnerable. He's never looked so young. 

My lips form a smile, but I'm afraid my smile will shatter and all my feelings will come pouring out. I nod cautiously. 

Looking back down, he extracts the knife from the case and tests its weight in his hand. He mutters, "Nice balance," before looking up at me with a wicked smile. "Duck." 

I blink, then reflexively duck down a second before the knife sails over my shoulder. I look behind me to see it protruding from a half inch brace on his bookcase. 

Alex says, "Very nice balance." 

Very nice aim. 

I guess he likes it. Grinning my relief, I search my brain for the words I intended to say. It feels as if my mind has been erased during the last ten minutes. 

Alex is on me before I can turn around--straddling my legs, butt resting on my thighs. His expression is hard to read, but his hand touches the side of my face and he murmurs, "Thank you, Walt." 

"I... uh..." Fuck. I kiss along the ridge of his brow. When the words finally come there doesn't seem to be any volume behind them. "You mean so much to me, Alex." 

His body is still for a second, face touching the side of mine, then one arm winds around me. He pulls back and looks at me intently. His fingers stroke my face, then his lips settle over mine. 

I groan. My tongue slides into his mouth. This is a damned good idea... I don't want to talk. Whatever I meant to say is forgotten. Touching him is essential. My hands wrap around his waist, pulling him closer. I feel the pounding of two separate heartbeats... one a little faster than the other. 

Lowering my hands, I squeeze his ass gently, then stroke his thighs. He moves against me, encouraging the touch, as one hand slips down my arm, coming to rest on the back of my hand. He breaks the kiss while lifting my hand, bringing it to his mouth. Lips touch my palm then he sucks two fingers inside. 

The sight of him reverently sucking my fingers is intensely erotic. I can't help but remember all the times my cock has been in his pretty mouth. However, tonight I am very clear on exactly what I need. And I need it so keenly. Pressing my lips to the side of his face, I whisper, "I want to fuck you." 

His groan vibrates through my fingers before he releases them. There's a faint, "Please," breathed against my skin. 

I brush the side of my face against his. "Bedroom." Bracing myself with one arm, I start to stand. Alex rises with me until we're embracing face-to-face. My hand slips into the back of his jeans, tugging his shirt out and peeling it off. As my fingers trace the lines of his chest, his tiny nipples become erect. There's a hiss of pleasure from him. 

His hands grip my waist as if needing support, his eyes already glazed with desire. Something catches his attention and he suddenly pulls away from me. Moving quickly, he plants one foot on the sofa, stretching far over the edge of the couch to extract the knife from the bookcase. Placing it back in its case, he sets it on the table. 

Face flushed, Alex turns back. His breath seems to catch as he looks at me, then he steps forward and pushes off my coat. 

I hasten to assist. My tie is jettisoned. Shirt stripped off. We rub our chests against each other. His skin is warm... electric. Touching him is beyond stimulating. My desire for him is so strong... I want him to belong to me. I want his body to exist for my touch only. I've always had this obnoxious possessive streak, but I've never felt it so extremely. Alex does something to me... 

Grabbing the waistband at the back of his pants, I pry him off me. My arm encircles his waist and I lead him toward the bedroom. 

It's a little difficult getting there because Alex keeps stopping to touch me. Or tries to keep his hands on my body while walking. I half push him into the bedroom. His hands are immediately at my waist, loosening my belt and unfastening my pants. 

My slacks and shorts are around my ankles before either of us considers my shoes. I sit on the bed, so I can slip them off, but then Alex is on one knee, pulling off my shoes and socks and tossing the mess of clothing onto the floor. 

The instant Alex's fingers touch my cock, I realize I am unbearably hard. Groaning pathetically, I push his hand away. The hand immediately returns and his lips are on my chest, sucking my nipple. 

I grope for his fly to retaliate. Popping open the buttons, I reach inside and get a good grip on his erection. Alex's cock has become my favorite plaything. I tease the head of it between my fingers. 

He releases my nipple and inhales sharply, thrusting into my hand as his fingers briefly tighten on my erection. He takes a shuddering breath and tries to wiggle away from my hand. "Christ, not yet." 

Offering a smug glare, I release his cock, allowing him to slip out of his jeans. My eyes go from head to toe, taking in his lean, masculine body. Then I reach for his hand and tug him forward, so he falls on me on the bed. 

He quickly finds his equilibrium and rests his weight on me as his lips find the side of my neck. 

I roll him over and we wrestle on the bed... not very seriously... just experiencing each other's strength. I can overpower him, but he's very strong for his size and extremely deft. 

Still struggling, he grinds his erection against mine. I realize it was a diversionary tactic when he manages to flip me over. But it backfired on him because I feel the trembling in his legs and see the passion flush on his face. 

Growling at him, I push him back over, so I'm on top again. Then I pull back up on my knees and nudge his legs apart. Smiling, he wraps both legs around me and pulls me heavily back onto his body. 

I kiss him again. His arms slide around me as his lips part for my tongue. It feels as if I will never tire of the taste of his mouth. I'm beyond turned on at this point, but I struggle to keep my brain working. I want to ask him for something... something that may be difficult for him to give. 

Breaking away, I tug open the drawer of the bedside table and snatch the lube and a condom. I drop them on a pillow. Scooting down so I'm at the foot of the bed, I lean over him again and kiss a path from his navel to his groin. 

His breathing becomes uneven and his back arches. 

My tongue laps along the side of his cock, teasing strokes, too gentle to really satisfy him. He gasps then gives a grunt of frustration. I take the head into my mouth, tongue swirling around the crown. His whole body jerks and he gasps out, "Oh fuck... Walter..." 

I smile around his cock, as my tongue probes the slit and I lick his pre-cum. It's so very satisfying to reduce him to a quivering lump on the bed. Reluctantly, I release his cock and nibble on his balls. My hand on his thigh, I nudge him to encourage him to lift his legs. He pulls his knees to his chest and my tongue finds the tender skin of his anus. 

His whole body begins to shake and he whimpers. 

I drag my tongue across the crinkly surface of his asshole, enjoying the soft animal sounds he makes. When I lift my head from between his ass cheeks, he looks rather blissed out. I offer him a cocky smile. "Let go of your legs." 

He blinks at me before releasing them, as if he wasn't aware of holding them up. I slide up his body again and pin him with my body weight. "Would you do something for me, Alex?" 

"Mm hmm." Alex can barely move with me pinning him to the mattress, but he manages to wiggle underneath me, moaning at the sensation of our skin rubbing together. 

I'm too turned on to effectively navigate this delicate situation. "I want to fuck you like this... face to face." 

Still looking dazed, he blinks at me as if trying to process what I'm asking. Then he stills and takes a couple deep breaths. "I..." His speech is aborted and he tries again to focus on me. After a moment, he mutely nods his head. 

There's that look again. I want this, and he wants to give it to me, but it scares him. I'll have to proceed cautiously. 

Sliding down his body, I kneel between his knees again. I lean toward him--pushing his legs apart and my cock forward--and pass him the condom. 

Alex tears open the wrapper and rolls it onto my erection. His erratic breathing and the dilation of his pupils tell me he's still lust-addled, but he's pensively biting his lower lip. He leans up and his lips touch the side of my neck while his fingers lightly stroke my cock. 

I pass him the lube bottle and hold out my hand. He puts a generous amount on my fingers. I rub it warm, before pushing them between the globes of his ass. 

Alex hisses as I tease the sensitive skin of his anus. 

I have to do this quickly or the position might start to bother him. Pushing a single finger inside, I work it around and then add a second. As I open him up, he looks more turned on than worried. When I brush against his prostate, he gasps and tightens around my fingers, hips jerking. His eyes glaze over and he breathes rapidly, unaware of anything but sensation. 

My third finger slides in easily. Alex fucks himself on them until I ease them away. 

Shifting forward again, I lift his legs onto my shoulders and put the head of my cock at his anus. Slowly, I press into him. 

Alex stills and his eyes widen. He gasps as if he can't get enough air. His body squirms underneath me, almost as if trying to get away, but at the same time, his rectum relaxes for my penetration. 

I stop halfway inside him, tempted to ask if he's okay, but he hates that. 

His head moves restlessly against the pillow, then he begins to struggle, pushing against me and trying to get his legs off my shoulders. I move my arms, bracing them on either side of his head, allowing his legs to slip down. I start to pull away but he grips my biceps hard and stills, looking vacantly into space. 

The look chills me... whatever he's feeling is grim. I shouldn't have asked him for this. 

Then his hands are at my shoulders as his legs wrap around my waist, pulling my hips against his body. He lifts his head until his lips touch my collarbone then, with a twist of his neck, his face is pressed against my chest, near my armpit. He tilts his hips up, encouraging me into his body as he clings to my shoulders and chest. 

A single push of my hips brings me all the way. "Shhh, it's okay, Alex," I whisper. I begin to thrust inside him, hoping he'll calm down. 

There's a choked sound from him and his legs tighten around me, hips pushing up to meet my thrusts. 

The tight heat surrounding my cock makes me shudder and groan. 

It feels so damned good to be inside him, but my cock is only a part of it. Touching him, being connected, feeling close to this man and needing the contact... It's overwhelming, but I want it so intensely... more than I can remember wanting anything in a long time. 

I shift my hips slightly, trying to put more pressure on his prostate and rub his cock between our bellies. He groans and a tremor races through him, but he continues to cling to me even as he writhes with pleasure. 

Alex's atypical vulnerability, and the way he hangs on to me, create a bittersweet ache in my chest. But holding him and fucking him like this seems so right. I feel needed. Comforting and comforted. 

I fuck him harder and faster... as if the fucking is what we need. My cock glides in and out of him, each movement suffused with exhilarating friction. 

His breath is rapid and hot against my skin. His mouth closes around flesh on my chest, near my armpit, sucking hard. He bucks against me and his body shakes. I know he's close. 

Unable to find words to convey what I barely comprehend, I rasp out his name. "Alllexxx..." 

I stop trying to hold off my own orgasm and thrust deeply into him. He thrashes against me, body nearly lifting off the bed. I cry out loudly as my orgasm detonates. At the same moment, his hips tense and quiver beneath me, rectum clenching around my cock. My climax is acutely pleasurable... pleasure at the very edge of insanity. 

My body suddenly feels heavy and my arms go rigid to keep my weight from crushing him. 

With a faint whimper, Alex's trembling body releases mine. He collapses against the bed, breathing hard. A sharp tingling sensation rushes to the spot on my chest where he was sucking. 

I allow my weight to fall to his side, quickly removing and dropping the condom off the side of the bed. Wrapping my arm around his waist, I pull him close. His cum is slippery on his stomach and chest. He immediately buries his face against my neck, but otherwise is still in my arms. Then his arm comes around me, holding on, fingers digging into my back. 

* * *

I'm practically clinging to him, but I'm not sure how to stop. That was horrible, and... incredible. 

I nearly panicked, and it was my own fault. Convinced what bothered me must have something to do with that debacle in prison. All I managed to do was cause a flashback to something intensely unpleasant. 

The larger problem was that I couldn't have him looking at my face. Having him look in my eyes while penetrating me was... too damned much. I was terrified of him seeing everything I feel--of him seeing the truth about me--because it changes nothing and only leaves me more vulnerable. 

I don't even know how to name what I feel. And it was even scarier to think I might see some of that in his face. I should never have agreed to that. 

But it felt so good... so... right. And I want to give him anything he asks for. 

I am so fucked, so I hold him a little tighter. 

I feel one of his hands stroking my back and the other finds my hair. Almost immediately, tension starts to flow from my body. Before Walter, I never let anyone exploit this weakness, but it seems like the only thing to do... Let his hands rob me of my ability to figure a way out of this. At least, for a little while longer. 

His soothing hands make me think of his whispered words, '...it's okay, Alex.' 

It's so not okay, Walter. 

He murmurs, "Thank you, Alex." 

Still keeping my face between his neck and shoulder, I whisper against his skin, "I wanted to." I realize I did want to... because he asked me. And he doesn't really ask me for anything. But it was harder than I thought. Normally he fucks me into an explosive frenzy but, tonight, he fucked me to calmness and the most intense orgasm of my life. 

I can't cope with this. 

Fuck, how old am I? 

I compose myself and bring my features under control before pulling back. I can do this. But Walter's face stops me. He gazes at me with a sated but longing expression, and I find myself kissing him instead. 

Breaking the kiss, he says softly, "Alex, I..." Then he shakes his head. Whatever he's trying to say, he's afraid to say it. And I'm afraid to hear it. 

Reassuring us both--that it's okay to leave it unsaid--I touch his face, then kiss him again. I rest against his body again, just happy to touch him. 

Idly running my hand along his torso, I ask, "I need something to drink. Thirsty?" 

He kisses the side of my face. "Yeah. Water, please." 

"Okay. I'll be right back." 

I'm distracted by the semen smeared all over my stomach and chest. I clean up quickly and return with the water and a warm damp towel. Sitting on the bed, I hand him one glass and wipe the cum off his chest. 

When my glass is about half empty, Walter takes it from me and sets it on the bedside table. He pulls me back onto the bed and begins touching and kissing me. Lazy affectionate caresses I'm helpless to not participate in. It's just too good... touching him... being touched by him. 

Walter's fingers stroke the side of my face. "Shower?" 

I nod and climb off the bed. "I'll get towels." 

He's stepping into the shower when I enter the bathroom. I quickly brush my teeth. Watching him through the glass, I consider that I should just let him finish and then get in, but I find myself stepping into the tub before I can think about it too carefully. 

I move quietly to begin with, and Walter is turned away, head under the shower spray. He doesn't appear to have heard me. For a few moments, I look at the defined planes of his broad back, the perfectly sculpted muscular ass, the ripped musculature of his hamstrings and calves. Fuck, he's got the most incredible body. 

Moving forward, I wrap my arms around his waist. He gives a faint start of surprise. I feel his hand on my arm. It belatedly occurs to me that I should stroke him or something... otherwise it's just, uh, hugging him. My brain trips over the thought. Before I can figure out what to do with my hands, Walter turns around, breaking my hold, and pulls me into his arms. 

He rotates us and backs me under the water, then his mouth settles over mine. 

This time when he breaks the kiss the words come. "It's good with you, Alex. Damned good." His brown eyes are filled with emotion. 

He's been showing me his feelings this entire evening, but I'm not sure what they mean. I could probably figure it out... if I wanted to. But I don't. Because I'm afraid it might change what I have to do. 

No more thinking. I stroke my hands over his skin, brushing water droplets away, then nod. "Yeah. It is." My voice is barely a whisper, but I know he hears it. 

We finish showering, a slow lazy bathing process that's more an excuse to touch. Walter seems to take more opportunities than usual to touch me... kiss me. I probably only notice it because I'm doing the same thing. 

But I'm doing it because I wonder if every touch will be the last one. Why is he doing it? Probably better to not know. 

We dry off and silently agree to go to bed. 

I keep my mind carefully blank when our bodies come together under the covers. My head rests on his shoulder, arm around his waist. One of his hands strokes my arm and the other teases the back of my neck, then slips into my hair. 

I'm grateful my brain stays quiet, allowing sleep to claim me. 

I wake still close to him, my brain no longer quiet. My arm is still around... well, it's across his hips, because I've scooted down the bed. I want to stay close to him, but at the same time, want to get away. Careful not to wake him, I inch across the bed. I glance at the clock and realize I haven't been asleep very long... it's not quite midnight. 

Slowly, I rise from the bed and make my way to the kitchen for more water. 

The leather case on the coffee table draws me into the living room. I set down my glass and slowly pick up the knife case. Opening it, I stare at the knife. 

Walter brought me a gift. How odd. No one's given me a gift since I was a kid. And I've never had one packaged that way... with the paper and the ribbon. I stroke my fingers over the blade. It's a beautiful knife... at least as serviceable as my old one--maybe more so--but much more aesthetically pleasing. I like the pattern mirrored in the handle. 

When I first saw it, I told myself it didn't mean anything, but then he said... No, don't think about what he said. The gift doesn't mean anything. Walter probably gives presents to all his lovers. He's never come here without bringing me something. 

No... none of this means anything. We're just fucking. A way to waste time until I can figure a way out of this. 

I put down the knife and return to the bedroom. I watch him sleep for a few minutes, then carefully settle beside him... Being close to him for a little while longer. 

A faint chirrup from the living room has me jumping out of bed. That's either Walter's cell or mine. In either case, it has to be answered. 

I hear Walter's sleep husky, "Alex?" when I'm halfway down the hall. The second ring tells me it's coming from Walter's jacket. 

Retrieving his cell, I meet a sleepy-eyed and naked Walter in the hallway as the phone rings for the fourth time. 

"Skinner. ... What?!" His expression shifts from shock to dismay in an instant. "Oh, Christ. ... Have you got any usable leads? ... I'll call Mathis and have him assemble a missing persons team. What else do you need? ... You got it, Mulder." He leans against the wall, hand squeezing my shoulder. "We'll find her. Give me ten to call Mathis. I'll expect an update in the morning... say 7:45? ... Yeah. Okay." 

It's the middle of the night and Mulder has encountered some sort of trouble. Not terribly surprising, I suppose. 

Walt ends the call with an angry jab of his finger. Turning to me, he says in a solemn voice, "Agent Scully's been kidnapped. Mulder thinks it's Duane Barry." 

Duane Barry? Doesn't he have a big hole in his chest and is presently in the hospital? How did he get a hold of Scully? And why? This can't be coincidental. It's almost too convenient. A week ago, I was advising Spender to have her transferred out of the state and so buried in autopsies she didn't have time cause trouble with Mulder, and now she's been abducted? 

I'm about to say something when Walter keys in a number. "This is A.D. Skinner. I need an emergency patch-through to Agent Mathis." 

I stand with him in the hall as he gives orders to Mathis. He seems very concerned. More concerned than I would expect. She reported to him briefly, but I didn't think they were terribly close. 

This time he terminates the call with a pained sigh. He gives me a concerned glance that reminds me of his expression during his hospital visits. Maybe... maybe it's just the way he is. Maybe he worries about all his agents this way. 

I rub my hand across his shoulder. "Do you need anything?" I'm not even sure what I'm asking, but I am clear that if he asked for anything, I would try to do it. 

Walter shakes his head and closes his eyes, massaging his forehead with his fingertips. He stretches his shoulders back and takes my hand, returning to the bedroom. 

Instead of getting in on my side of the bed, I climb in behind him, arm wrapped around his waist. My lips lightly touch the back of his neck while my fingers massage his chest. Curious about his upset, I quietly ask, "Did you know Agent Scully very well?" 

"She's not dead," he snaps at me. 

I tense. Well, that was one of my other suggestions to Spender. Apparently that would bother Walter. 

Shaking his head again, he adds, "I'm sorry, Alex." His tone is laced with regret. "She's a good agent. I respect her a lot." 

"I... I'm sure we'll find her, Walter." But there's no telling what condition she'll be in if Spender was behind this. Mulder may find himself a red-headed corpse. 

Walter reaches for my wrist, pulling my hand to his lips and kissing the palm. His body pushes back, trying to get closer, even when there's already no space between us. 

End Part 6 

* * *

Exigency: Yield  
Part 7 

Federal Bureau of Investigation  
Tuesday, 9 August 1994  
7:42 A.M. 

After flipping through all the information for this morning's briefing, I glance at my watch. "Come on, Mulder. We have to get up to Skinner's office." 

Mulder slowly rises from behind his desk, looking like he hasn't slept in a week. 

I'm dreading walking into this meeting--perceived as Mulder's partner--with alternate theories about Scully's abduction that prominently feature alien conspiracies. Makes me wish I'd gotten a better job description. 

There's something surreal about this situation--two hours ago I was in the shower with Walter, licking water droplets off his chest and now I'm preparing to espouse theories of alien abductions. 

I'm acutely aware of the knife Walter gave me secured at my waist next to my gun. My fingers trace the outline of it through my jacket. Get a grip, Krycek. 

We're not late, but Mulder and I are the last to arrive. Mathis is talking to Walter, and standing entirely too close, in my opinion. Mathis' two senior suck-ups are hovering nearby. 

Jennifer Gough walks over to greet us. I thought she was working some other high-profile case after her success running the V.B.I. lead on the Bingham kidnapping. She wouldn't be here if she weren't heading up this case. 

While she talks to Mulder, I notice the other occupant. Fortunately, no one is paying attention to me because I can't prevent the start of surprise at finding Spender in the room. Why the hell would he be attending a briefing in Walter's office? 

"Let's begin." Walter's voice, in full A.D. mode, resonates in the room. 

Everyone settles at the table and I'm stuck between Mathis and Mulder. Lovely. And I really hate having my back to a door. 

Agent Gough, then Mathis give quick updates on the current status of the investigation. Walter asks questions to clarify a few points. 

After a few minutes, Walter rises and begins walking around the table. "According to the reports I reviewed, Agent Scully's research states that Duane Barry's propensity for violent, deviant behavior is due to brain damage from a bullet wound in the head. Is this the operational opinion?" 

Walter stops between Mulder and me, looking to Mulder for an answer. Mulder doesn't respond... just stares at nothing. Great. 

I'm forced to answer. "Yes, sir." I clear my throat, resisting the urge to strangle Mulder. I wish he'd do anything besides sit there looking hung over. 

"Is there another?" 

I hate life. "He's convinced he's going to be abducted by aliens. That by taking someone else to the abduction site, he won't be abducted himself." 

Walter walks around to my other side. "That he's following orders from alien voices in his head?" His tone is less than believing. 

"Yes." Please kill me now. 

"Well, that's an interesting spin on the Nuremberg defense." He looks pointedly at Mulder and receives another non-response. "Which explanation do you subscribe to, Agent Mulder?" 

"There's a question of how he could've gotten to her in the first place." And Mulder finally speaks. Great timing, you pain in the ass. 

Mathis jumps in. "And you think these alien voices told him?" Mathis has a knack for making any bad situation worse. 

Mulder seems to wake up. "Agent Scully was carrying a small piece of metal that was removed from Duane Barry's abdomen. An implant he described as a tracking device." He's just citing the evidence but there's something confrontational in his tone. 

"Agent Scully thought that you had made a major miscalculation in Duane Barry's psychosis. Is that true?" Too bad Mathis hasn't had one of Spender's lectures on 'how to get along with Mulder.' 

Mulder replies, "Yes, but that still doesn't explain how he could have found her." 

My gaze flicks to Spender. Something doesn't seem quite right about this... I'm even more certain he's involved. I wonder how he managed to get control of Duane Barry? 

Walter's voice draws my attention back. "Where would he be taking her?" 

Mulder looks despondent. "I don't know. He... he talked about a mountain but he wasn't specific about the location." 

"Well, however he got to her, and whatever his motives, he took Agent Scully's car and weapon. I think we all understand the seriousness of this matter and should proceed ahead quickly with all possible resources. I need you to turn over your files to HRT-" 

Mulder interrupts, "I'd like to brief them myself si-" 

"Go home, Agent Mulder, you've been up all night. Get some sleep." 

Mulder stands and steps close to Walter. Too close. My fingers curl into a fist. 

"Sir, I know Duane Barry. I've been in his head, I know how he thinks-" 

Walter raises his voice and says, "You're too close to this case." His tone shifts to placating. "If we can use you, we will." 

"Sir-" 

"That's an order, Agent Mulder." Walter turns to me. "Make sure he gets home safely." 

More Mulder-sitting. How perfect. 

Mulder is insistent about not being driven home... but not quite as insistent as I am about taking him. Before he'll get out of my car, he makes me promise to call him if anything comes up. 

Around 12:30 P.M., Jennifer Gough finds me with information that a patrolman in Virginia was killed by a man matching Duane Barry's description. The patrol-car video is being couriered over. Reluctantly, I dial Mulder's number. He doesn't answer so I try his cell phone. When he picks up, the faint noises in the background tell me he's not at home. 

Mulder not following orders is not my problem. 

Barely two minutes after I hang up with Mulder, my cell phone rings. Since only Spender has this number, it's not a big stretch to figure out who's calling. 

"Krycek." 

"We need to find Scully before Mulder does." 

What the hell? "Understood." 

The line clicks off. So, if Spender did set this up, even he doesn't know where Duane Barry is going. If they really needed to get rid of Scully, I'm sure I could have handled it much easier and with a lot less confusion. 

At 3:00 P.M., I find Agent Gough for an update on the investigation. When I return to my desk, there's a note from Mulder that Scully is still alive, and a print-out of a shot from the video. Interesting. 

I call Spender with the minor update. 

He pauses for a moment then replies, "Mulder is working outside the investigation again. Keep him talking to you, Alex." Again, he abruptly clicks off. 

I feel a major headache coming on. Walking to Mulder's office, I grab two cups of coffee--seems to be something FBI agents do. 

Mulder's listening to tapes from the hostage negotiation two days ago. Out of the blue, he asks where the patrolman was killed and jumps up to find a phonebook. He rips out a page with an ad for Skyland Mountain. 

"You know where he's going?" There's a team of 12 people upstairs who haven't got a clue and Mulder's already figured this out? 

"Get your car and meet me downstairs." 

"Where are we going?" 

"Just get your car." 

"What about Skinner?" I have a feeling Walter will be less than happy about us disappearing to pursue Duane Barry. 

"I'll deal with Skinner." 

Which means you're not going to do a damned thing. That's great, Agent Mulder. An unhappy Walter Skinner doesn't affect your sex life. 

Coat in hand, Mulder disappears. 

Needing to talk to Spender--but strangely enough, wanting to call Walter--I head to the parking garage and dial Spender's number. 

When he answers, I say, "Looks like Mulder found her." 

"Where are they going?" 

"He thinks Scully's been taken up to Skyland Mountain. I'll hold him off until they locate her." 

I hear a sound behind me as Spender replies, "It would be best to keep Mulder away, but your cover is the most important thing. Don't compromise it, Alex." 

Mulder's approaching. "Wait, here he comes. I'll be in touch." 

"Alex-" 

I hang up, not missing the warning tone in his voice. 

Mulder dashes around the car. "Come on, let's go." 

I get behind the wheel and leave the parking garage. We're not even on the road five minutes and Mulder is incredibly twitchy. 

"Pull over." Mulder's voice startles me. 

"Why?" 

"Just pull over." 

I pull to the side of the road and Mulder jumps out of the car. He circles to my side and yanks open the door. "I need to drive." 

"Get serious, Mulder." 

"Come on, Krycek. Move it." 

Gritting my teeth, I get out and move to the passenger seat. Once we're moving again, I ask, "Did you talk to Skinner?" 

"No." His voice is toneless and he doesn't look at me. 

"Nice way of 'handling' him, Mulder." I can't keep the irritation out of my voice. 

He gives me a sharp look but doesn't reply. An uncomfortable silence descends over the car. 

It bothers me more than it should that he didn't talk to Skinner. I realize it's because I don't like to see Walter upset. And that is psychotic. 

The urge I've been fighting for days rises to the surface. I want to find Walter and tell him everything. But what exactly would that serve? It would do nothing but end our relationship and make me an immediate target for the Consortium. Possibly make him a target, too. And that is not an option. 

I struggle to figure out why this is so bothersome. What is it that I really want? I want... I want him to be with me. I want to sleep in the same bed with him every night and... I've really lost it. My perspective is fucked up by too much good sex. 

Walter is married. He's around for the sex and telling him the truth would just make me an ex-lover on the run from the Consortium while he patches up his marriage. Thank you, no. I have to get out of this before I do something stupid... like trust Walter. I'm sure a little distance from him will bring me be back to normal. 

I have a feeling Mulder may be my key to that distance. If you want to get in trouble at the Bureau, who better to hang out with? 

Lost in my ruminations about Walter, I'm barely aware of the next hour and a half. Until Mulder nearly drives head-on into a truck. Despite his obvious exhaustion, he refuses to give up the driver's seat. Rather inanely, I try to keep him awake with conversational tidbits--convinced we're both going to die in a car accident in the next few minutes. 

The random discussion serves to break the ice and a more comfortable silence descends. My mind wanders back to Walter, half hoping I'll never see him again and half hoping I will. I'm not prone to moodiness, and I don't have a word for how I feel. I force my brain to turn away from these thoughts... torturing myself doesn't seem productive. 

Out of the blue, Mulder says, "Look, I know you think we should have told Skinner, but if he sends the whole cavalry, Duane Barry might go over the edge." 

Maybe the word for how I feel is hopeless. "You're right." I remind myself that my job is to watch Mulder, not rein him in. But I really don't want to talk about Walter... in any context. 

"If we find him first, we'll notify the Bureau. All right?" 

"Yeah." I have to get my brain off Walter. The only reason I can think of for Mulder to bring up this topic is because he's sensing something in my attitude. I desperately search for a way to change the subject. "You really think he tracked her down with that implant?" 

"Well, that's the easiest explanation." He pauses for a second. "It's also the most implausible." 

"Is there another possibility?" 

"Somebody could have given him her address. I don't know who." 

Gee, I do. 

I spot the turn-off for Skyland Mountain, and within a few minutes, we're grilling the resort attendant. Duane Barry was here about 45 minutes ago. 

The tram is closed. Looks like we're going to be chasing her up the mountain. Then Mulder threatens the operator with his weapon, insisting that it's now open. 

Nice finesse there, Mulder. 

He only half listens to the tram operator's warnings, then shuts me out of the tram. 

I quickly ask, "What are you doing?" 

"Stay here and whatever happens, don't let him stop the tram." Mulder ignores the rest of the instructions from the operator. 

I watch the tram begin to ascend, thinking about what Mulder just said. Interesting idea. 

Inside the control booth, the operator freaks out about Mulder's speed. Him breaking that cable and dying is not going to solve any of my problems. 

Eventually, Mulder heeds the warning and slows down at the tower, then immediately speeds up again. 

Do I let him make it to the top? If I stop the tram, there will be some suspicion and, of course, there's the tram operator to deal with. "How close is he?" Suspicion could be a good thing. 

"Should be up top in a minute." The tram operator pauses to look at the monitor and I reach for my gun. "There he is." 

I bring the butt of my gun across the back of his head and he collapses. 

Okay, first, deal with Mulder. 

I stop the tram. Mulder's voice bleats out over the radio--trying to determine what's going on. I dial Spender's number. "I've got him stalled up there. I'll hold until you advise." 

"We have people almost in position. Keep him away as long as possible but don't compromise your objectives." 

"Understood. Do you have a cleaner en route?" 

There's a hesitation. "Yes. Is anything compromised?" 

I certainly hope so. "No." 

"Someone will call you directly. Allow ten minutes, then call in your location to the FBI." Spender clicks off and barely 20 seconds later, the phone rings again. 

I give my location and task to the cleaning crew. 

As I hang up, I notice Mulder crawling out on top of the tram. Mulder, you fucking idiot. There's no way he can make it to the top of the mountain without falling. 

Shit, shit, shit. Reluctantly, I restart the tram. Mulder nearly falls off when the car lurches into motion. I forget to breathe while he struggles to get back on top. 

He makes it to the top. I'm both relieved and annoyed. I have an unconscious body, a cleaner on the way and it served absolutely no purpose. 

Except perhaps to raise Mulder's suspicions... which will be useful. To me, if not to Spender. 

I place a call to Agent Gough and apprise her of the situation. She's less than happy and states that she has to escalate to Skinner, but will immediately send the local sheriffs. 

A few minutes later, a black sedan pulls up, followed by an ambulance. Three men in dark suits climb out of the sedan and two paramedics hover in the background. 

One of the men approaches me and I show him into the tram operator's booth. 

He looks around, quickly taking everything in, then returns to his car. "What was he hit with?" 

I gesture to my gun. He holds his hand out and I turn it over. He disappears into the ambulance and returns my weapon a few minutes later. No doubt, this is the cleanest this gun has ever been. 

"Go be seen somewhere else." 

Cleaners are such prima donnas. 

* * *

8:15 P.M. 

Kimberly taps on my door and announces Agent Gough. The lines on Gough's forehead don't suggest good news. "Sir, Agent Krycek just called. He and Mulder are looking for Duane Barry on Skyland Mountain near Warrenton in Virginia." 

"What?!" 

"I guess Mulder got some sort of lead and thought he could find his partner himself." 

Shit. I'm going to have to put a leash on that man. 

She continues, "Skyland's about an hour from where the patrolman was killed but, other than that, I don't have any reason to suspect Barry went there. Should I send a team or just wait for Mulder to report?" 

"Agent Gough, if Mulder's there, he's probably on to something. Get a backup team there ASAP." 

Gough opens her mouth to respond, but a chirp interrupts. She answers her cell phone. "Gough. ... And Agent Scully? ... I see. We're on the way." Switching off the phone, she turns to me. "That was Krycek. They found Barry, but Agent Scully wasn't there." 

Fuck. This case bothers me. The pieces just don't add up right. I reach for my coat. "I'm going with you to the mountain." Mulder, your ass is going in a sling. 

Stepping into the outer office, I instruct Kimberly to get us a helicopter. 

"Agent Gough, we can take two members of your team. Meet me on the roof in ten minutes." 

Baker finds me at the helipad, anxious for news. Gough brings Gjersee and Mallory. 

Baker informs me that Mathis wants to come, but he's not there on my timetable, so I offer Baker the last remaining seat and instruct the pilot to take off. 

I sit next to the pilot, listening to him negotiating our take-off with the Secret Service. 

Fuck. I hope we can still find Scully alive. I hope Alex doesn't get embroiled in anything nasty. Again. 

During the noisy flight, I manage to speak to the County Sheriff. He sounds competent but he hasn't found any trace of Scully, outside of the trunk of Barry's car. I inform Gough that she's taking over the search when we land. It's probably too dark to find Scully, but I need to know someone I trust is looking at the evidence. 

We land first on top of Skyland Mountain, discharging Gough and Gjersee. Taking off again, our second landing is on a field off route 211. We're met by a bland but solicitous investigator from the Virginia Attorney General's office who drives us to the visitor's center. 

Inside the building, I find Alex and Mulder. Alex looks unharmed. Mulder looks disheveled and like he hasn't slept in two days. I try to remind myself that he didn't create this mess. "You got Duane Barry?" 

"Yes, sir." As usual, he doesn't bother trying to justify his misbehavior. 

"Agent Mulder, you disobeyed my direct order." 

A voice calls out, "Call the paramedics!" 

I follow Alex and Mulder deeper into the facility. 

Barry appears to be choking. Mulder kneels next to a pair of guards, leaning over Barry. "What happened?" 

One of the men says, "He was gagging..." 

"Duane? Duane?" Mulder calls out, trying to make contact with the man who clearly can't breathe, much less speak. "Duane!" 

As Barry wheezes and finally stops breathing, I fear we've lost our last chance to find Scully. 

Paramedics brush past us and attempt to revive him. Mulder, Alex and I watch as it gradually becomes clear that Barry is gone. 

Giving up on Barry, I glance at Mulder. He's in trouble. Again. But he's also lost his former partner, who was keeping him sane. 

Leaving the small room, I take a seat in the lobby and dial Gough. There's no news. After instructing her to report every twenty minutes, I find a cup of coffee and sit down with Mulder and Alex to review their day. 

Alex seems distracted, looking at his hands a lot and letting Mulder answer all the questions. Something's bothering him, but I'll have to get it out of him later. It crosses my mind to reprimand him for this, but I know how persuasive Mulder can be. 

I instruct Alex to drive Mulder home for the second time today. 

The crappy coffee makes my stomach burn. 

In less than 24 hours, we've lost an agent, the perp and our only witness. 

* * *

Washington, D.C.  
Wednesday, 10 August 1994  
6:04 A.M. 

After leaving my car in a garage, I enter the small coffee shop where I was instructed to meet Spender. He's not here. Someone brushes past me with a large cup of coffee. "He'll meet you in your car." 

I clench my jaw. I really hate this shit. 

Returning to the parking garage, I climb into the driver's seat and am immediately assaulted by an intense cloud of smoke. I glance at Spender and clear my throat. 

He stubs out his cigarette. I guess there are some perks to meeting in my car. 

I might as well get to the point. "Skinner's expecting my report on the Duane Barry incident. What do I tell him?" 

"The truth." 

Huh? He can't really mean the actual truth. "What do you mean?" 

"Confirm Mulder's version of events. You've earned his trust, the object now is to preserve it." 

"For how much longer?" I'm starting to worry that he's trying to pair me up with Mulder for life. 

"Until your assignment is completed." 

Spender is not one for clear answers. There's an easier way to deal with this situation. Well, easier for me. "If Mulder is such a threat, why not eliminate him?" 

"That's not policy." 

He's got to be kidding. Since when do we have a policy about not killing people? "It's not? After what you had me do?" 

"Kill Mulder and you risk turning one man's religion into a crusade." 

Jesus, that's deep. I can see the line of people waiting to jump on Mulder's bandwagon. "What about Scully?" 

"We've taken care of that." 

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "How?" 

"We tell you only what you need to know." 

Hardly. "I think I have a right to know." 

"You have no rights, only orders to be carried out. If you have a problem with that, we'll make other arrangements." Spender climbs out of the car. 

He does not like to be challenged, and it's suddenly clear just how expendable I am. But something doesn't quite make sense. Constant reminders about preserving my cover, but he'd have me taken out for crossing him on Mulder? I wonder what's really going on here. 

I drive to the Bureau. As I'm preparing to get out, I contemplate the cigarette butts Spender left in my car. I should remove them. 

I consider what's going to happen next... meeting with Walter, Mathis and Gough. 

Looking back at the butts, I decide I just don't care. 

* * *

10:36 A.M. 

This case is really bugging me. Alarm bells have been ringing in my brain long enough to give me a headache. Or maybe it's the smell of my Pentagon observer's cigarette. I'm starting to suspect that anything he's interested in is going to get fucked up. 

Alex doesn't think Mulder killed Barry. Mulder's not my calmest agent, but I doubt he'd kill a witness, especially not the only witness to Scully's disappearance. But, if not Mulder, who? 

I review the forensic report at the assembled meeting. "Victim appears to have expired from prolonged hypoxemia, secondary to asphyxiation." 

I pass one of the ME's photos to Mathis. 

"Several possible etiologies," I continue. "The most likely is strangulation due to the presence of contusions and a bruised larynx. Do you want to speak to this, Agent Mulder?" 

Defensively, Mulder responds, "I didn't kill him, if that's what you're suggesting." 

"But you attacked him?" 

"I was interrogating him about Agent Scully. He wasn't cooperating so I pushed him." 

Predictably, Mathis has to goad him. "And you lost control." 

Mulder replies, "Momentarily. But then I left the room. He was very much alive, I spoke to him. Agent Krycek spoke to him." 

I interject, "Agent Krycek says he entered the room because the suspect was gagging." 

Mulder's quiet for a moment, then asks, "Is Agent Krycek asserting that I killed him, too?" 

"No. He corroborates your story. But the fact is, we've got a dead suspect, Agent Mulder, and no other plausible cause of death. OPC wants the both of you to take a lie detector test. You're to report there immediately." 

OPC's involvement in this case isn't going to illuminate it. But they'll give Mulder hell. He probably deserves it. 

Mulder rises to leave, but turns back at the door. "There is another plausible cause of death." 

I dread the answer before I even ask the question. "Which is?" 

"Poisoning by injection or ingestion." 

I reach for the report. "Poisoning?" 

"You won't find that on the Navy pathologist's report." 

Still looking for a believable explanation, I probe further. "What are you saying, Agent Mulder?" 

With an adamant tone, Mulder continues, "That the autopsy is incomplete. That the military covered up the toxicological findings." 

"And why would they do that?" 

"Because they know where Scully is," Mulder replies with his usual fanatical fervor. It makes me want to doubt him, but there isn't a toxicology summary in the report. He could be right. 

Mathis and Mulder spar again while I sort out the next steps in my head. 

After Mulder leaves, I tell Gough to chase down the toxicology report. Mathis looks like he's about to object, but I shut him up with a glare. I want some answers on this. 

Glancing at my unwanted observer, who's puffing his cigarette, I have a bad feeling I'm not going to get the kind of answers we need. 

* * *

"Alex?" At Mulder's voice I glance around. "Alex?" I feel his touch on my shoulder. "Can I borrow your car keys?" 

"Why, where are you going?" 

"There's someone I've gotta see." 

What the hell is he up to now? "Yeah, but we're scheduled at OPC-" 

"I know, just give me the car keys please." 

With no obvious way out of this, I hand him the keys. 

"Thanks." 

I watch him walk away, certain something's up. 

On my way to check out a Bureau car and follow Mulder, I run into Mathis. 

"Where's Mulder?" 

I shrug. "Haven't seen him." 

"Come on... get up to OPC and let's get this finished." 

* * *

5:52 P.M. 

After spending the entire afternoon looking for Mulder, I decide to try his desk. Hearing his voice, I approach quietly, staying out of visual range. 

I listen to his half of the phone conversation. He's trying to track down the tram operator. After a few minutes, it's apparent he's learned the man is missing. 

Mulder slams the phone down. "God dammit, what did you do with him?" He quickly dials another number and I hear him trying to finesse a look at my Bureau file. 

I silently turn and leave. That's it. Game over. 

Mulder has my fucking car keys, so I catch a cab back to my apartment. This is what I wanted... I should be pleased. So why am I so fucking pissed? 

At home, I change into jeans and a T-shirt and quickly pack a few important things. I need to call in. Tell the Consortium that my cover is blown. Instead, I do the most impossibly stupid thing in the world. I call Walter. 

He answers on the second ring. "Skinner." 

I feel myself break out in a sweat at the sound of his voice. "It's Alex." God, what do I say? "Can you talk now?" 

"Yeah." 

"I..." Need to get it together. "I need... I mean, can I see you? Tonight?" It hits me that I feel slightly panicked. I'm completely losing it. 

"Are you all right?" There's a hint of unease in his tone. I wish he wouldn't worry about me. 

I pause for a second to regain my equilibrium. "Yeah. Fine." 

"That's bullshit. Do you want to talk about it?" Still that damned note of concern in his voice. 

"No... I mean, I just want to see you. Nothing's wrong." If I hadn't sounded like a hysteric, this would probably have gone smoother. 

Walter sighs into the phone. "I can break away in about an hour, but if this is urgent I'll leave now." 

"Walter, there's nothing wrong, I... fuck. Of course an hour is fine... anytime is okay." Now I'm babbling. Lovely. 

"Okay," he says in a dubious tone, "I'll be there in about an hour and a half." 

Every survival instinct I have tells me to call this off... to tell him not to come over, but I simply reply, "Okay." 

I toss my bag into the closet and pace the apartment. This may be the most colossally idiotic thing I've ever done. Mulder could approach Walter about his findings at any time. Or worse, Spender could find out my cover is blown and send his goons while Walter is here. Just the thought makes me queasy. 

But the need to see him again--one last time--is too strong. I can't analyze it; I just have to do it. 

An hour of agitated roaming and some of my nervous energy is depleted. A part of me screams that I'm making a huge mistake by leaving, but any way I look at the situation, the only answer is to go. My own confusion over the decision reinforces the need to get out of here... and the sooner the better. 

Fatigued by my own agitation, I strip out of my clothes and take a shower... a little hotter than usual. When I feel semi-rational again, I dry off and put my jeans and T-shirt back on. And immediately resume pacing. 

I'm mentally kicking myself for even staying in this apartment after my cover was compromised, when there's a knock at the door. 

I brush my hair out of my face and answer it. 

Walter. 

Just seeing him ratchets my sense of panic up to a nearly intolerable level. This is completely insane. I turn on my heel and walk toward the kitchen. "Do you want anything to drink?" 

Suddenly, he's behind me, strong arms capturing me around the waist. His lips find the back of my neck. I'm torn between fleeing and surrendering. I stand still, my fingers digging into his arms even as I tip my head forward. I close my eyes, blocking out anything but his presence. 

He kisses a path down my jaw line, slowly turning me in his arms. His lips press against each of my eyelids. "Look at me, Alex." 

I hate reality. 

Opening my eyes, I meet Walter's assessing gaze. I realize he's reading me. Fuck. Walter's one of the only people--maybe the only--who can look at me and see beyond my careful neutrality. My eyes flick to the left, disconcerted by his stare. 

He seems to come to some sort of conclusion about me, kissing me on the temple. "I'll have a Coke, or whatever." His arms retract. I'm torn between relief and dismay. 

I nod and retreat to the kitchen, grabbing a Coke and a bottle of tea. I return to find Walter on the sofa. Too agitated to sit, I hand him the Coke, then lean against the arm of the chair. I should say something... I asked him to come over, but I'm at a loss. 

"I hope I made it clear that I don't fault you for anything that happened yesterday," Walter offers gently. 

Well, you should. "I... yeah, you did." 

Walter's eyes flick to his hands for a moment, before he looks at me again. "Have I done something that upset you?" 

"What? No... of course not." I hesitate for a second. "Walter, I just wanted to see you... nothing's wrong." 

Everything's wrong. 

* * *

I'm somewhat relieved that this--whatever it is--isn't my fault. 

Alex's 'I'm okay' act is a good one. It would have worked on me a month or two ago. But now, I know him too well. 

Now, I know how Sharon feels when I won't talk. 

I keep hoping he'll give me a clue what he needs from me. Extending an arm, I encourage him to sit beside me. 

He hesitates for a long moment, then abruptly moves toward me. After setting his tea on the table, he curls up next to me, arm coming around my waist. 

My fingers reach automatically to stroke his hair but maybe that's not the right thing. Instead, I rub his neck. "I hope you know you can always talk to me." 

Alex is completely still and silent. So close, but unmoving. It's so unlike him... I'm afraid for him, but I don't know why. 

Fingers still massaging his tight neck, I ask, "Would you like to go for a walk? Sometimes I walk around Georgetown when I have a lot on my mind." 

Fuck, I'm no good at this. He needs something, and I'm just lost. Out of my depth. 

He remains silent for so long I begin to wonder if he's listening at all. Finally, he looks up at me and says, "I need you." There's a desperation in his eyes and voice... I've never seen him like this. 

His words pierce me, triggering my own longing for him. I can't breathe for a moment. "I'm here, Alex, and... uh, I'll try to be here whenever you need me." I pull him a little closer, more to reassure myself than him. 

I want to tell him I intend to leave Sharon, but promises he can't believe are meaningless. Instead, I make a mental promise to talk to her this week. 

He looks at me for a long time and his expression slowly shifts from desperate to agonized. I feel such a strong desire to make him feel better, but I'm baffled by his distress. 

Leaning forward, he brushes his lips across mine. 

Alex has never before kissed me tentatively, but our lips are barely in contact. He brings a hand up to stroke the side of my face. His tongue slips out and glides along my lower lip, then he sucks it lightly. Releasing the tingling lip, he begins to explore my mouth. 

My tongue teases his, but I don't take the lead. 

His hand slides behind my head, holding me as he kisses me harder. He slowly raises the intensity, sucking my tongue and nipping at my lips. 

He releases my head and his tongue retreats at the same moment. His lips part further, offering his mouth to me. Only then do I take control. My tongue assaults his mouth, tasting and feeling the smooth interiors. I'm marking my territory. 

It's elemental the way our bodies respond to each other. He arches into me, moaning against my lips. The raw sound seems to vibrate in my groin. His hand fists in the material of my shirt and the other clings to my shoulder. 

I should stop this, before we end up fucking again. But I want him. And I know he wants me. And sex may be the only way I can assuage his pain, if he won't talk. 

Withdrawing my tongue, I kiss across the surface of his chin and down his neck. "Is this what you want? What you need?" I ask in a breathless voice. 

His head falls back, exposing his throat to me. He whispers a response, and I only catch the last few words. "...anything you'll give me." 

The words bite a little... he'll take whatever I give... it's not enough. Even if I were divorced, I'm not sure I could give him what he deserves... the connection, support, whatever he wants from me. Fuck, I don't even know what he wants. 

My own need to touch him overwhelms me... my emotions are in freefall. Turning my body toward his, I slide one hand up his T-shirt and massage the warm muscles of his back. 

Alex shifts his legs so one slides behind me and the other is draped across my lap. He grapples with my tie as his legs close around my waist, drawing us even closer together. 

I tug the shirt over his head and admire his slender but well-muscled chest. The bronze pennies of his nipples draw my fingers. He drops his hands behind him, bracing his weight and arching his chest toward me. I tease one nipple erect, then the other and he hisses with pleasure. Then I brush across them with the pads of my fingertips. 

His breathing accelerates and his gaze is intense, still with that faint edge of desperation. "I want you, Walter." His voice is low and husky, laced with desire. "So badly." 

I brush my lips across his cheek, realizing for the first time that he reciprocates my feelings. "I want you, too, Alex." Covering his face with kisses, I struggle to find words to express myself, but I don't know how to say what I feel, what I want, what I need. "You're not alone." Maybe someday I'll finally discover the right words. I wonder if he'll be happy to hear them. 

He shifts onto my lap, arms and legs wrapped around me. He's still for a long time, breathing against my neck. Then his fingers remove my tie. "Please, Walter... I need to feel you." 

I groan my assent, needing our clothing to evaporate. Clumsily, I attempt to unbutton his fly. 

Alex yanks my shirt out of my pants, fingers making quick work of the buttons. His hands glide across my chest, separating the material and pushing it off my shoulders. 

His eyes flick to my chest, his mouth opened in astonishment as he sees the bluish remains of the mark he left. The last time. 

I offer him a self-satisfied grin. 

Alex bites his lip, and there's a strange expression on his face. He looks almost... flustered. 

Leaning down, his lips pass over the mark before he fastens his mouth on one nipple, sucking it lightly and teasing it with his teeth. His hands move to my belt as his lips move to the other nipple. 

Alex's impassioned frenzy drives my own. I manage to get my hand inside his jeans, but I can't go any further. "Alex, stand up." 

He struggles off my lap, and rises to his feet. Keeping eye contact, he slowly pushes his jeans off his hips and down his legs. 

So fucking sexy... those slender hips and the cat-like way he moves. 

I work hard on my body but it will never be beautiful. Like his. 

"God, Alex..." Abruptly, I rise and press myself against his naked body, hands squeezing warm flesh, cupping his ass. One hand wanders to the front of him and gropes his cock. "Mmm... I love the way you're always hard for me." 

Alex pushes against my hand, seeking my touch. His mouth finds the side of my neck, and he kisses a path to my ear. "Anything you want..." His voice is a throaty whisper. Warm hands slide up my back. 

His passionate reply seems to pulse through my body, stimulating every nerve ending and filling me with indescribable feelings. I growl my lust, while feeling the weight of his cock in my fingers, loving that his body is mine to take. I stroke his erection, thumb brushing the sensitive underside, palming the shaft. 

Alex groans and a shudder racks his body. Grabbing my shoulders for support, he gasps out, "Can't keep standing... don't." He takes a gulp of air, helplessly thrusting into my hand. 

Suddenly, I need to be inside him. At the same moment, Alex says, "I... fuck me, Walter. Please... need to feel you inside me." 

Frantic and a bit delirious, I nod. I kick off my shoes and jettison my slacks. Slipping behind him, I wrap an arm around his front and nudge the back of his knee with my knee. He whimpers faintly. I catch his weight as he allows it to fall forward, and lower us both to the floor. 

I push Alex's torso down until he's on hands and knees. He immediately shifts his legs apart and his back heaves with labored breaths. With a twist I'm able to reach the cabinet door, retrieving the lube and a condom. 

Why can't the condom and the lube just apply themselves? 

Bending forward, I nibble a path down his spine, until my face is pressed against his crack. I lick down to his anus, drawing circles around it with my tongue. He trembles and makes little distressed noises I know signify anything but distress. 

I groan loudly into his ass, before pulling myself away. The condom wrapper resists my fingers, until I snarl at it, finally releasing the condom. "Fuck, I need to be in you," I mutter, rolling the latex onto my cock. I grab the lube and squirt a blop onto my fingers. 

Not bothering to warm the lube, I bring two slippery fingers to Alex's anus, massaging the crinkly skin. Groaning, he pushes against me. He opens easily to the first finger's probe, moving frantically against my hand. "Please, Walter, just fuck me," he growls, his voice raspy with lust. 

I push a second finger inside him, opening him up hastily, before withdrawing and positioning my cock. I wrap my fingers around my shaft and brush the tip across his anus once, before pushing inside. As I enter him, it flashes in my mind that his ass belongs to me. The thought very nearly makes me come. I gasp for air and spit out, "Don't. Move." 

He gives a whimper of protest but obeys. The muscles in his back quiver and glisten with sweat. 

I'm shaking a bit myself, as I try to regulate my breathing. I want to fuck him so badly, but I have to regain control first. Closing my eyes, I force my mind to a Zen-like state, where my body is detached. Control. Control. Deep breath. I'm there. 

My eyes flick open to the beautiful sight of Alex on his hands and knees, my cock embedded in his ass. I withdraw slowly and begin to fuck him. 

With a guttural groan, he pushes back to meet every thrust, each movement an invitation to fuck him hard. 

Gripping his hips, I gradually increase the pace. The molten heat of his rectum envelops my cock. "Talk to me," I mutter. Unable to see his face, I need his voice to tell me where he's at. 

"Can't... think..." He drops his head down and struggles to breathe, pushing hard against me. "Please... harder," he gasps out. "Need to feel you." 

Groaning, I bend my body so I'm over his, and slam into him. I find a rhythm that feels perfect, taking his ass hard and fast, feeling every twitch of his body beneath mine. He stops fighting the fuck--stops trying to push it further--and relaxes, accepting whatever I give him. 

Wrapping my arms around his chest, I pull him into an upright position. I hold him tightly to me, my hips still driving my cock into him. I gnaw gently on the back of his neck, enjoying the salty, musky taste of his skin. 

He moves restlessly, then drops his head down, arching his neck. "Walter... please." 

I know what he wants, but I have to focus or I'm going to go too far. Grasping the flesh of his neck between my teeth, I gradually increase the pressure. Once I begin to bite, I feel a flare of need to bite harder. 

My cock slides in and out of his ass. The wonderful tight heat of his body is making me lose control again. 

I increase the force behind the fucking, so I have to hold on tight to keep from knocking us both across the floor. Groaning into his neck, I can't stop my teeth from sinking in deeper. 

Alex's hands grasp my encircling arms. He keeps his ass positioned to receive my cock, and his neck exposed to me. He whimpers, "More." 

And, god, I want to. I get a head-rush imagining the taste of his blood in my mouth. But I won't hurt him to get it. Instead, I shift the bite slightly and gnaw at him, trying to give him as much sensation as possible without breaking the skin. 

* * *

I groan when he moves his mouth. I could tell he was close to drawing blood and I needed it... a mark that would last more than a few days. My ass feels raw under the force of his thrusts, but I want him to wound me. 

His hand closes around my balls and I gasp as I'm swamped by sensation. Then his fingers circle the base of my cock, and my body shakes as my orgasm hovers just out of reach. He'll only have to stroke me once. 

I shift my knees a little further apart, and his penetration feels sharper, almost painful. I need that, moving my legs a little more... stretching my ass further. 

The force of his driving hips feels like it's enough to shatter the bones in my pelvis, but I always want more with him. I've never understood it... I always want more, but whenever he touches me, it's always enough. 

His teeth loosen, slip and tighten again in my neck. I gasp at the pain, keeping my head angled down so he can keep biting. 

The pattern of Walter's breathing tells me he's a hair's breadth from coming. I've never before been able to read someone's body so well... or have them so completely know mine. For a few seconds I hate it. His next thrust intensifies the fire under my skin, and I wonder how I'll get by without it. 

Walter's fingers close around my cock and he strokes me. As the orgasm begins to rip through my body, I'm most intensely aware of his presence--his smell, the feel of him against my skin, his cock in my ass, his arms around me. Then nothing but sensation, and I feel a choked scream burn my throat. 

A deep sound that must be coming from Walter follows my scream. 

I find myself held in warm arms. I'm sitting backward on his lap. Walter's sitting on his heels, his shrinking cock still inside me. The sound of his breathing slows as his lips brush across a tingly place on the back of my neck. Fingers trace a pattern across my chest. 

I should get up and conclude this, but I'm powerless to move away as long as he's touching me. My head falls back to rest on his shoulder. I absently run my hands along his arms. There are twinges of pain in the back of my neck. I hope it lasts. 

I'm calmer now... and completely desolate. 

Walter kisses my head, nuzzling me with his scratchy cheek. "Thank you, Alex. That was..." He clears his throat. "... well, you know, wonderful." 

Lifting my head, I twist my neck around to look at him. "It always is... with you." My voice is barely a whisper. I feel almost unable to talk. Life really sucks. 

His arms cross over my chest, holding me tighter. "This isn't... I mean, I really..." He makes a soft sound of exasperation. 

I have no idea what he's trying to say, but I can tell he wants to communicate something to me. Something he considers to be important. I'm sure it will be better if I don't hear it. Reaching up behind me, I blindly feel for his face, stroking down his cheek, then running my fingertips along his lips. 

He kisses my fingers. "I really care about you, Alex." 

Oh, Christ. It feels like he just ripped me apart. I'd be sunk if he hadn't said the name. The constant reminder that I'm a lie. He would never actually say that to me. 

I grab the arms wrapped around my body and hold on to him, whispering, "I'm glad you're here." 

Walter's body seems to relax. It was hard for him to say that. We sit silently, just offering each other light touches. His steady breathing lulls me to a false sense of calm. 

Eventually, he stirs and chuckles quietly. "I think my legs have gone numb." 

"It's probably a good thing... wait until you feel the carpet burn." My knees sting from the abrasion. Reluctantly, I pull out of his arms and kneel up, gritting my teeth at the sensation of him finally pulling out of my overly-tender ass. It's the last time. I fight back the painful thought. 

Moving forward, I turn to sit on the floor, wincing at the pain when my glutes absorb my body weight. 

There's a hint of a smirk on his face, but when he attempts to stand his own movements are stiff and awkward. Once upright, he holds out a hand and helps me to my feet. His chocolate brown eyes radiate warmth as he pulls me closer. For the first time, I notice he looks slightly vulnerable when he's not wearing his glasses. 

I decide there's no point in fighting this. I'll take whatever he gives for as long as he's here. Wrapping my arms around him, I relax against his body. 

By unspoken agreement we stagger to the shower. Not entirely sure I want to join him, the decision is made when Walter tugs me in with him. It seems to go on forever... languid touching, kissing. This time, he washes me, warm fingers carefully soaping my arms, chest, legs and ass. Every minute is like an addictive torture, but the gentle smile on his face is the worst. 

I think the torture's over when I take the soap from him, but touching him is almost unbearable. Running my soapy hands over every part of him, I try to memorize how he feels. I wonder why I decided to do this to myself. 

Walter brushes a finger across my jaw line. "Alex?" 

Stilling my hands, I look at him. "Hmm?" 

"What's wrong?" 

"I..." Apparently my 'nothings' aren't working, and I don't have the reserves to keep deflecting him. "I can't... I'll tell you, but not now." Not that he'll have the opportunity, but if he ever asks me again, I will tell him. "Walter, please let it go." I don't have enough defenses against him and, if he pushes, I know I'll do what he wants and tell him... the whole sordid mess. 

He nods. "All right." Kissing my forehead, he murmurs, "Whenever you're ready." 

Grateful, I wrap my arms around him and angle our bodies under the shower spray, rinsing off the soap, and obscuring my face so he cannot see how hard this is. It's difficult to believe that the hardest thing for me to do is to not talk to him. 

After all the hot water is gone, we dry off and get back into our clothes. I start to put on my boots, but realize how strange it would be for me to wear shoes for an evening at home. 

Walter finishes his Coke... it must be flat and tepid by now. I expect him to take a seat but he doesn't. Instead, he offers me a sad smile and says, "I think I'll head home... unless there's something I can do for you..." 

He's leaving. "No. Thanks for coming over, Walter... I know it was sudden." 

Walter puts a hand on my shoulder. "I want to be here... whenever you need me, Alex." He leaves a trail of kisses in my hair. 

It's been almost ten years since I've been so acutely aware of being called 'Alex.' There's not any space between us, but I try to get closer anyway, putting one arm around his waist and the other around his shoulders. My mouth finds his, and I try to say goodbye. 

The tentativeness of his body tells me he knows there's something wrong. He kisses me softly and gently. Too softly and gently, when I want it demanding and possessive. We both linger over the kiss much longer than our normal 'goodbye' kiss. 

When he finally breaks away, he gazes deeply into my eyes, seeking answers I wish I could give him. I keep my expression blank, but I cannot control whatever he sees in my eyes. I could look away, but I probably owe him this. 

Almost reluctantly, he takes my right hand and kisses my fingertips. "I'll see you tomorrow." Then he gives me another soulful look and reaches for the door. 

I resist the urge to cringe. As he starts to open the door, I grab him for a quick, hard kiss. "Good... night, Walter." 

Then he's gone. I wait for a few minutes to be sure he's had time to leave. Like flipping a switch, I turn it all off... something I learned to do years ago. 

Then I make the call. A raspy voice answers the special number I thought I'd never use. 

Taking a breath, I finish it. "I'm compromised." 

* * *

Driving home, I worry about Alex. Something is troubling him, but I have to trust him to talk about it when he's ready. I'm more determined than ever to tell Sharon about Alex. He needs to know I can be there for him. And I can. I want to be. More than I've wanted anything in a long time. 

I'm tempted to accost Sharon the instant I get home, but I need to think through carefully what I'm going to say to her. She deserves that much. 

Underlying these concerns is elation. I'm not alone in my intense feelings. Alex and I are both experiencing the baffling discovery of unexpected feelings. I feel young and alive and optimistic about the future in a way that I haven't in many years. 

My lack of availability has to be at least part of what's bothering Alex. I'm glad he stopped pretending nothing was wrong. At least he trusts me enough to admit it. 

I'm going to talk to Sharon this weekend, so I can tell him I'm taking action that will make it better for us. 

Us. 

I'm not sure I've ever thought that before. 

As I open the door to the house, I realize it feels very different than it did a few months ago. No longer a monument to my failures. Now it's just a strange place where I live with a woman I don't belong with. 

Sharon passes me in the hall and gives me a bland smile. 

Everything has changed. 

It's better for me. Much better. My deepest wish is that it will somehow be better for her, too. 

* * *

Washington, D.C.  
Thursday, 11 August 1994  
8:03 A.M. 

Mulder is a few minutes late for an emergency meeting he requested this morning. I remind myself not to go at him again. It feels like I've never done anything but give him grief. Not that he doesn't deserve it. But I've already given him hell twice for going to Skyland Mountain without calling it in. And once for missing his first lie detector appointment. He annoys the piss out of me, but I respect the man, too. 

Finding Scully is what really matters. 

A tap on my door and Mulder appears, looking like he's given up sleep and shaving again. Skipping the preliminaries, he blurts out, "I know what happened on Skyland Mountain yesterday." 

"What?" 

He hands me a report but says nothing. Unusual behavior for the talkative agent. 

I scan the document, hoping for a clue to Scully's whereabouts. Unexpectedly, Alex's name features prominently. Shaking my head in confusion, I start rereading the document from the top. I must have misread something. 

But, in fact, Mulder is naming my lover as a suspect in Duane Barry's murder. 

Jesus, fuck, Mulder. There's no way my Alex is a hired killer. 

I hope the hitch in my breath is the only clue to the rush of feelings. 

I keep my head down and glue my eyes to the paper before me, so I don't reveal anything. Why is Mulder going after Alex? This can't help us find Scully. 

And that's my lover you're accusing, you son of a bitch. 

Pretending to still read the damned report, I regulate my breathing. And step through my mental calming ritual. Breathe. Relax. Calm. 

Focus on the problem. This is a Bureau matter. Deal with the personal issues later. There's no place for feelings here. 

Mulder is probably wrong about most of this, but it's my job to listen. 

Blank. Flat. Professional. 

"This is a serious allegation, Agent Mulder." 

"Only so far as it is true." 

My eyes fall on the words that form the crux of his accusation, which I read out loud. "Agent Krycek was hired or suborned by an outside agency to impede a federal investigation and may be responsible for the death of a suspect in a capital murder case." 

"It goes on." 

"And the possible murder of the tram operator at Skyland Mountain." The urge to strike out at Mulder is growing. 

But I am calm. Relaxed. Professional. 

"There's a lot of blood on this document, Agent Mulder. Are you standing behind this, going on the record?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Well, then you damn well better have the facts to back it up." Or so help me god, I won't wait for OPC to take you down. 

This is a straightforward Bureau matter... 

Get the other agent in here. That's the fastest way to clear this up. 

I buzz Kimberly. "I need to see Agent Krycek. Immediately." 

Fuck, even as a Bureau matter, this is ugly. 

It could destroy Alex's career. I rise and walk to the window, to keep my face from Mulder's view. 

This could destroy Mulder's career, too. And we haven't a clue how to find Agent Scully. This situation just keeps getting uglier. 

But I am still calm. 

"I can't protect you, Agent Mulder. Past a point, this will become a larger Bureau matter." I force myself to face him. "All right, what have you got?" Let's hear your outrageous theories. 

Mulder surprises me with an evidence bag. "I found this in Agent Krycek's car. He doesn't smoke." He tosses it on my desk. My intestines clench. It's a cigarette butt. My ashtray is full of them. From Smith. Same brand. It rings true that Smith's up to no good. 

"Agent Krycek was the last person with Duane Barry before he died. He was also the last person to see the tram operator before he disappeared. When I got to the top of Skyland Mountain, I saw an unmarked helicopter working the area." 

Alex and Smith? Doesn't make sense... 

"I believe that Agent Krycek gave away the whereabouts of Duane Barry and Agent Scully to whoever he's working with." 

"And who is that?" 

"I don't know, the military? Some covert organization within the government? Whoever it is that man who smokes those cigarettes works for." 

"Why?" 

"Because Agent Scully got too close to whatever it is they're trying to deny. Because she had hard and damning evidence--that metallic implant--in her possession. Or because her termination would prevent further involvement with me and my work." 

It holds together as well as most of Mulder's theories. Could part of it be true? "Do you think Agent Scully's dead?" 

"I don't know. How far do you think they'd go?" 

Someone has tried to stonewall Mulder's work. Smith fits. Would they kill an agent to meet their ends? Fuck, she's probably dead like Barry. Just another witness eliminated. 

Mulder asks, "What do you know about Agent Krycek?" 

"I didn't give him the assignment, I only-" 

Saved by the telephone. 

It's Kimberly. "Sir, Mathis told me Agent Krycek didn't come in today. I called his house but I got the phone company message that his phone has been disconnected." 

What!? 

It is instantly apparent to me that Alex was saying goodbye last night. Oh, Christ. Could any of these accusations be true? 

Breathe. Calm. Professional. 

"Yes. Thank you." 

Hanging up the phone, my mouth opens and I manage to speak. "Agent Krycek didn't show up for work this morning. His home number has been disconnected." 

I think I'm numb. 

Mulder's voice intrudes, "That's it? He's gone, he just disappears into the woodwork?" 

I need to be alone. "So it would appear." 

Mulder marches around my office. "Who are these people who can just murder with impunity and we can't do anything about it?" 

"Let it go, Agent Mulder." 

"Like hell." 

"There's nothing you can do." 

"What can you do about it?" 

The Bureau matter, Walter. The Bureau matter. 

Someone's covering up something here. "There's only one thing I can do, Agent Mulder. As of right now, I'm reopening the X-Files." Get Smith and his cronies, dammit. I'll fight the Director if I have to. "That's what they fear the most." 

I'm going to find Alex. He's got to have an explanation. Please don't let him be any part of this. 

The snick of my door closing punctuates my numbness. I'm vaguely aware that Mulder is gone. 

Rising, I lock the door. But it isn't enough. Pressing the intercom, I bark at Kimberly, "No interruptions." 

As I stand at the window looking out but not seeing, an icy sensation travels up my spine. Alex was saying goodbye last night. He knew he was leaving. But why? Could he really be involved in this? 

I feel like I know him but, at the same time, I don't know him at all. 

If he was involved in something illegal, he wouldn't discuss it with me. But I felt sure he wanted to talk to me last night. Wanted to, but couldn't. 

Fuck, if he was involved in something nefarious, was our affair part of it? He or Smith could have blackmailed me... Oh, Christ. No. 

I keep remembering last night. 'I need you,' he said, his voice desperate. That was real. And the look in his eyes before we said goodnight. 

Suddenly, I have to find Alex. If I demand an answer, I know he'll give me one. I slip on my coat and open the door. Hastily, I ask Kimberly to cancel my morning meetings. 

Half an hour later, I park my car on the far edge of the visitor's lot. The same place I always park when I visit Alex. 

An elderly man is weeding the garden out front. 

I approach him and ask, "Can you direct me to the manager's office?" 

A smudge of soil across his chin, he smiles up at me. "I'm the manager." 

Opening my credentials, I hold them for him. "I'm with the FBI. I need access to apartment #3. Will you let me in?" Don't ask for a search warrant. I'm not in the mood. 

Scratching his face with a dirt-smeared hand, he rises and pulls out a pair of glasses to examine my shield. "Walter Skinner?" 

"Yes, sir. Federal Bureau of Investigation." 

"I think Mr. Michaelson moved out last night?" 

"Michaelson? Apartment #3?" 

"Yeah. Tall young man with dark hair? Rides a green bicycle." 

Fuck. I feel like I'm standing in quicksand. "What makes you think he moved out?" 

"Moving van here late last night." 

Christ, how is this possible? "What time?" 

He shrugs. "Well, they woke me up around one thirty. That's why it's in the lease... moves are only allowed between nine and nine." 

"Did he give notice?" 

"No, sir. I thought to call the police, but it was a regular moving company. You know, United Van Lines. Did someone steal his stuff?" 

"I don't know." 

"You're a friend of his, aren't you?" 

"Yeah," I reply absently. 

"Did something happen to him?" 

"I. Don't. Know," I repeat, trying to keep my frustration out of my voice. 

Calm. Blank. Professional. 

I ask, "Have you got a key to the apartment?" 

"Yeah, sure." 

I follow the manager to his unit at the opposite end from Alex's. He locates the keys and steps back outside. 

"Sir, I need to go in by myself." 

With a reluctant shrug, he passes me the key. 

I can feel the tension in my shoulders as I walk to Alex's door. It feels wrong to unlock it. His door. Without an invitation. 

My fingers twitch on the grip of my gun. I have a premonition that I'm going to find his body. Shaking myself, I twist the key and turn the knob. 

The apartment appears empty. 

I do a quick search, checking all hiding places. No Alex. No bodies. No furniture. Nothing of any kind. 

Holstering my firearm, I lean against the wall in the hall, trying to put the pieces together. Sudden disappearance. He knew he was leaving last night. False name. Where did you go, Alex? And why? 

I walk through the empty rooms again, recalling fond memories that only make me ache. And looking for answers. A spot of blood, or any evidence he was coerced, and I wouldn't ever stop looking for him. He is mine to protect... or was. 

But I find nothing. 

Crushed outlines in the carpet show where the furniture was. I have rug burn on my knees from that spot over there. Less than 24 hours ago. 

This can't be happening. 

There has to be an explanation or a note or something. 

As always, the apartment is immaculately clean. I search the closets and cupboards, finding more nothing. As if some drinking glass concealed in a corner by his kitchen aliens would explain... Behind the bedroom door, I find a scrap of paper. A red and black wrapper. Valrhona. I hold it to my nose and smell the chocolate. It instantly reminds me of his mouth. I bolt out of the apartment. 

I catch my breath in the parking lot. Fuck, I can't do this. 

My brain replays images of him from last night. Alex was a man making choices. Not running from a threat. I'm almost positive. But the threat would be easier to understand. 

What have you gotten into, Alex? 

And why do I feel so dead inside? 

Evidence needs to be taken, but I can't deal with it. I want to be alone. And I'm too fucking close to the case. God, my lover has become 'a case.' 

Way too fucking close to the case. For the first time it occurs to me that my own career may be at stake here, too. 

I realize I'm still holding the scrap of chocolate wrapper. After tucking it into my pocket, I reach for my cell phone. 

A woman's voice answers. 

"This is A.D. Skinner. Put me through to Mathis. ASAP." 

Last night, I was more optimistic about my life than I had been in years. That life just crashed and burned. 

"Mathis." 

"Something's happened involving Agent Krycek. I need you to assign Gjersee to investigate. Immediately." 

"What's happened?" 

"I'll explain to Gjersee." 

"Sir, if I'm going to work the case, I need-" 

I cut him off. "Gjersee will report to me on this one." 

"What? Why?" 

"Find Gjersee. I want him in my office in an hour. And tell Baker I need Mallory. Same assignment." 

"But sir, what about-" 

"One. Hour." I hang up. 

Fidgeting with nervous energy, I walk to a liquor store to buy a bottle of Scotch. It's 9:15 in the fucking morning. 

I march back to Alex's building. Sitting in my car, I take a swig out of the bottle, still in the brown paper bag. The perfect image of a fucked-up businessman... 

Dammit! What if this is just Alex's way of ending our relationship? 

My eyes sting as I'm forced to admit I feel hurt. 

I thought the cheating husband was supposed to cause the hurt. I remember him brushing off Nick. I should have realized what it said about Alex. Our relationship meant something to me, but not to him. 

But I seem eager to torture myself by wondering what part of it was real. The sex? Missing me when I was in Kansas City? Needing me when he woke up scared in the hospital? The pained longing I saw in his eyes last night? Just how good an actor was he? 

I cap off the bottle. More than a sip would make this already impossible day even more impossible. 

Unable to face my office yet, I lock the car and walk around the block. 

I really and truly want to kick Mulder's ass. For accusing my lover of murder. Of course, he doesn't know he's accusing my lover. I have no illusions about Krycek being a model agent. I can easily imagine him getting into trouble, but murder seems improbable. 

But I'm forced to admit it looks like he's interfered with this case. Probably broke the law. Possibly enough to cost him his badge. 

The name of a good criminal attorney comes to mind. The need to protect him is so strong. Please call me, Alex. Come forward. I'll do whatever I can to help. 

I need to help. I need to understand. 

After circling the block twice, I drive back to the office. Kimberly greets me with a stack of messages. "Sir, Mathis and Baker both want to see you as-" 

I hold up a restraining hand. "Not. Now. Kimberly." 

Her eyes open wide. 

C'mon, Walt. Hiding your feelings is what you do best. At least Sharon would say so. 

Oh, fuck. Sharon. Her life, too, will pay a price for this. I step inside my office and kick the door closed. 

Flipping through the message slips... there are none from Alex. Or the mysterious David Michaelson. I check my cell phone. No messages. I log on and check my email. Just a lot of bureaucratic nonsense. 

C'mon, Alex. You must have left me a clue somewhere. You wouldn't just leave me like this. Would you? 

I go to my private bathroom and shut the door. I just stand there, leaning against the wall. I want to break things to vent my rage, but I'm hardly aware of feeling anything at all. 

The real problem is that I feel everything. Far too acutely. 

I stand there for twenty minutes, breathing and trying not to think. Leaning awkwardly against the towel holder, so I don't have to look at myself in the mirror... 

When Gjersee and Mallory arrive, I give them Mulder's report, a copy of Agent Krycek's personnel file and a brief summary of my conversation with his landlord. "Find him. I don't care what it takes. Find him." 

Both of the agents give me puzzled looks. "Yes, sir." 

"And report to me. Not Mathis or Baker. Or Mulder. Or anyone else. Until I authorize the information to be released." 

Gjersee asks, "May I ask why, sir?" 

I make up something. "If one of our agents has been... suborned--and that's a big if--I don't want you to make any assumptions--Agent Krycek may be a victim here. But if someone has been suborned, it may involve other parties." 

The real reason is I want a chance to deal with whatever they learn. Quietly. Before I have to face anyone on the official issues. Before the affair becomes public, and I'm forced to resign. 

After the meeting, I lead Gjersee and Mallory to the parking garage. In a noisy corner, I inform them that I believe my office is bugged and we will have to discuss this case away from the Bureau. I give them my cell number and the addresses of two future meeting locations in D.C. 

The rest of the day is a blur. I can barely concentrate. 

When I think of Alex, I tell myself they're going to find him. And he's going to answer my questions. But I don't allow myself to consider that everything may turn out okay. 

I work late on anything and everything I can find to keep myself occupied. Kimberly's inbox and her desk look like something out of a Kafka novel. 

While hunting down the meeting notes she hands me every morning, I find a small stack of papers attached. A few organizational announcements go in the wastebasket. One of the documents is a sealed copy of Alex's lie detector results. 

Fuck. I fold the envelope and cram it in my pocket. It needs to be read but... just not now. 

After answering a month's backlog of email queries, I give it up and head home. But the car seems to lead me elsewhere. Anywhere else. 

So I walk the streets of Georgetown. It's pretty dead on a Thursday night before the school year starts. A tiny caf, seems inviting, so I step inside and order a cup of decaf and a scone. Seated at a tiny table in the corner, I open the envelope. 

He passed, in a manner of speaking. According to our tests, he told the truth about everything. Even the control questions where he was supposed to lie. Agent Krycek is apparently a female from Yugoslavia. 

It gives me a very bad feeling. 

My head is ready to explode from running all the possible scenarios. They settle into a few basic categories. 

Very bad is Alex is a hired killer. And somehow he was using our relationship. 

Bad is Alex is involved in something illegal. And cut and ran when he had to. 

Good. Is there a good? It's all a misunderstanding. Alex is safe somewhere and innocent of all charges. My law enforcement brain doesn't buy it for a second. But I want to believe it. Pathetically. 

Arriving home in the wee hours of the night, I'm too tired not to sleep. 

* * *

Washington, D.C.  
Friday, 12 August 1994  
7:36 A.M. 

The full-strength coffee at the pancake house tastes like battery acid, but I'm going to need it today. 

California-raised Gjersee has fresh orange juice and a bowl of granola. "United Van Lines has no record of the move. Nor do any of the other big moving companies." 

"What about his phone?" 

Gjersee shrugs. "The telephone company has no record of service at that address for the past 15 months. I checked out the telephone panel behind the building. There's no clear evidence of tampering, but there were a large number of spiders and webs inside it, with none around the connections to unit three. And there was a faint outline of a black box of some kind underneath the panel, where it wouldn't normally be seen." 

Mallory tentatively asks, "Sir, do you really think he's gone bad?" I meet his eyes. He's a recent Quantico grad. The class before Alex's. 

Grimacing, Gjersee looks at his cereal bowl. Both of them seem... despondent. 

Shaking my head, I remind myself not to take out my frustration on them. "What I think is unimportant, Agent Mallory." I stir my coffee for no reason. "How'd he pay the rent?" 

Gjersee glances at Mallory, encouraging him to answer. 

"Money order, sir. From the Post Office." He flips through his note pad. "The apartment was rented by a 30-something woman, a brunette, about average height. She used a corporate credit card for the deposit. We have the card number and a record of the transaction, but it's a dead end. The company doesn't exist. The bank number on the charge card is not valid. The card address is a cemetery in Houston." 

Gjersee gulps the last of his orange juice. "Our conversations with the neighbors were the most interesting." 

I almost don't want to hear this. 

"A couple of the neighbors had seen him with a 20-something man they describe as 'gay appearing.' Blonde, blue eyes. Average height." 

Nick. 

"And several witnesses reported suspicious men loitering on the premises. White males, under the age of 40. One wearing a Mets ball cap. A dark haired one with a scar across his eyebrow. It sounds to me like someone was surveilling Krycek." 

That's more bad news for me. "Did the neighbors mention seeing anyone else?" 

"No, sir." 

I should be relieved, but I'm not. My prints are all over his apartment. It's only a matter of time before Mallory and Gjersee start asking me questions. 

And there's so much more here than my career blowing up in my face. 

Later in the afternoon, Mallory phones me from Davenport. I take a walk behind the Hoover Building to call him back. Alex's parents, Vincent and Rachel Krycek were killed in a car accident in 1987. Mallory pulled his high school yearbook. Over the name Alex Krycek is a photo of a blonde-haired, brown-eyed boy who, according to Mallory, bears no resemblance to the man we know as Alex Krycek. 

Terminating the call, I feel some part of myself shut down. 

It's over. One way or another, Alex and I are finished. Some twisted part of me doesn't want him to be found anymore. 

An hour and a half later, Gjersee calls from Houston. Repeating the same drill, I phone him back. David Michaelson died in a car accident in August, 1993. Far too many car accidents in this case. Michaelson was a 47-year-old accountant. Unmarried. No children. Alex's former lover? I feel a twinge of some feeling that might have been jealousy two days ago. 

Alex's student ID from his freshman year at Rice shows a photo of the green-eyed brunette who disappeared yesterday. So when Alex Krycek showed up at Rice, he was no longer the same young man who left Davenport. 

Instead of returning to my office, I sit out by the fishpond. 

I have to accept that I've lost him. 

That I was a fool. 

Who knows what Krycek intended to use me for, but like a not-very-gracefully aging man, I fell for the ploy. Needy enough to believe he was genuinely attracted to this balding bureaucrat... 

I cared about him. I gave him feelings that I owed Sharon. I risked my marriage and my career and it still wasn't enough. Ready to leave Sharon... 

And now he's made me a fool. Just like every other middle-aged idiot who cheats on his wife. What a loser... 

When I finally get home it's almost nine. Sharon is in the living room, listening to Vivaldi. 

"What's wrong, Walter? You look grim." 

"There's something I need to discuss with you." 

"Okay." She tweaks the remote control and the music gets softer. 

"I had an affair." 

Sharon doesn't seem surprised, just watches me and waits for me to continue. Her face is resigned, tired. 

I slump onto the couch, a few feet from her. "It was going on for a couple of months, but it's over now." I study my hands intently for a moment, before I answer her unasked question. "It's never happened before. I've always been faithful." 

Sharon nods. She believes me. 

"I... It was a man. An agent." 

"Alex from Chez Mitani?" 

I hadn't thought we were obvious. "Yes. How did you know?" 

"He is very handsome. And you've been different since the day he came here... calmer, even happy, I think." 

I grimace at her words. This truth is probably the cruelest thing I did to Sharon. I was happy with Alex. Until yesterday. 

"Did you break it off?" 

I'm ashamed to answer. "No." I wouldn't have ended it either. Not to spare her, even though that would have been the right thing to do. I needed him too badly. So I betrayed Sharon and lost my lover. "He... he left. He's gone. No longer with the Bureau, I think." 

Sharon eyes me curiously. "Did he leave because of your affair?" 

I shake my head. "I don't know why he left, Sharon." 

She scoots closer to me on the couch and rests her hand on my shoulder. "And now you're hurting because he's gone." 

"Don't." I pull my body out of her grasp. "Don't comfort the fool who cheated on you." 

We sit in silence for a long time. She finally says, "I always thought you'd be better off with a man." 

"What?" That is not what I expected from her. 

"I mean... in a relationship with a man. Most women need more than you're capable of giving, but perhaps another man would be more accepting." 

I'm astonished by her aplomb. But I guess I've already hurt her so much that a little more doesn't matter. 

I sleep fitfully and find myself wide awake at 3 A.M. thinking about him again. My cock hard. Some of it had to be real, didn't it? It seems reasonable in the night, when I remember how he looked in his tux at the country club. 

* * *

Washington, D.C.  
Monday, 15 August 1994  
7:08 A.M. 

The restaurant is bustling when I arrive. Gjersee and Mallory are already at a table in a closed section. Something about that gnaws at my gut. 

"Agents," I say calmly as I sit down. 

"Sir." Gjersee gives me an uncomfortable look and Mallory won't meet my eyes. 

Here it is. I wonder what I'll do for my next career. 

There's a pitcher of coffee in the center of the table. "Sir, there's something else I learned at Rice University." Gjersee's words seem rehearsed. 

I nod at him. 

"Alex Krycek was openly gay in college." Gjersee watches my reaction intently. 

"And?" 

"I think I know who paid his hospital bill... and why." 

I knew it was coming. I meet his gaze, unashamedly. It's what I've done. I have to live with it. 

Mallory's eyes are wide. It doesn't look like he's breathing. 

Gjersee grimaces. "I was wondering what I should put in my report." 

Oh. That. "Agents, it would be entirely inappropriate for me to tell you what to put in your report." My tone is harsh. "Do what you believe is right. You have my word that I will not attempt any form of retribution." 

Gjersee's expression calms. "Thank you, sir." 

* * *

8:59 A.M. 

I stare at the wall in Morgan's guest room. For the first time in four days, I allow my mind to drift to Walter. The thoughts--and strange feelings--are always there, but I have forced myself to ignore them. Because there's nothing to do about it. My fingers reflexively close around the knife at my waist. 

Presumably Spender ordered Morgan to keep me out of sight because I've been holed up in this room since they picked me up Wednesday night. I could have wandered around the house, but I didn't want to see anyone. 

My hand touches the back of my neck, stroking the still-visible bite mark. Have I made a mistake? 

Fortunately, a sound from the door keeps me from going any further down that path. 

"You ready to go, kid?" Morgan looms in the doorway, filling up the entire space. 

I don't respond. Even apathy seems like too much effort. 

After a few moments, Morgan sighs and says, "Okay, let's go." 

I rise and follow him to a big SUV and climb in. We drive for a couple hours. Morgan tries to engage me in conversation, but it's just noise to me. 

Eventually, we arrive at what looks like an office complex. As we pull up in front of a building, Morgan murmurs, "I wonder if I got the right location?" 

Finally having caught my interest, I turn to stare at him. He wonders if this is the right location? That's not very Morganesque. After a moment of thought, I conclude he knows he's dropping me at the wrong place. Deliberately. I'm curious about what's going on, but not inclined to ask. 

As I move to get out of the vehicle, Morgan says, "Listen, kid, if this goes bad, you just find a way to get in touch with me." 

I nod tersely and get out. I recognize that he's offering me refuge, but I only need to be saved from how dead I feel. 

No one is inside the building lobby. I should go check one of the doors and see where it takes me, but I just stand there. After several minutes, a door opens and a tall, well-dressed older man steps into view. 

"How intriguing." His voice is clipped and there's a faint British accent. "Considering that you are still alive, I must assume that you are the oldest child." 

He manages to hit on one of the few things that would truly catch my attention. Suspiciously, I reply, "Yes." I suddenly have dozens of questions, but wait to see what he'll do. 

After a pause, he asks, "Of how many?" 

I consider for a moment, deciding if I should answer. He obviously knows something about me and I'm willing to play to see where this goes. "Eleven." 

The well-dressed man looks startled. "Eleven? That's nearly a complete-" He cuts himself off and calmly continues, "That is irrelevant now." 

I step closer to him, but he doesn't react. There's about six feet between us. "How did you know I was the oldest? How did you even know who I am?" 

He's obviously considering how much to tell me. It seems like we're playing the same game, but what information could he possibly get from me? Morgan delivered me to this man on purpose. I file the thought away for later, when I'll need to figure out how these people connect. 

After a long silence, he answers, "If you were not the oldest child, you would never have been allowed to live. But, regardless, you should have been terminated. I recognized you because you very clearly have your father's looks." He gives me an assessing glance. "But your mother's stature. Fortunate for you on both counts I would say." 

I fight my need to throw this man to the ground and beat the information out of him. He knows something about the death--apparently not accidental--of my siblings. And he will tell me. "How did you know my parents?" 

"You might say they worked for me." How cryptic of him. 

"Might say?" 

"Yes." 

Gritting my teeth and losing my patience, I demand, "What do you know about my family?" 

"I'm not here to answer your questions, Mister...?" 

Ignoring his request for my name, I reply, "Really? Then why are you here?" 

"What is your name, young man?" 

I can see this conversation could go in circles for hours. "Krycek. Alex Krycek." 

He blinks in surprise. "Well, now, that is very interesting. But I'd like your birth name, not your alias." 

I grit out, "That is my birth name." Well, more or less. 

A look of enlightenment crosses his features, as if the world suddenly makes sense. I wish he'd fill me in on the punch line. "Well, I begin to understand what happened to Rachel and Vincent. Not that it didn't need to be done, but we would prefer it to have been for our purposes." 

"What are you talking about?" 

Stepping back and gesturing for me to enter the room, he replies, "Come along, Mr. Krycek. Our mutual friend will be looking for you soon and it seems as if we have some information to exchange." 

With a feeling like trepidation, I precede him into the room. 

Thirty minutes later, I follow him down a series of corridors, my mind reeling. I'm almost not able to process the information he's given me about my family and how Spender's involvement in my life has been something less than coincidental. 

But I now know that Aleksei is in more danger than I could ever have suspected. No one must know he survived the fire. I'll have to be even more careful in the future. 

And now, I'm following this strange man, not even listening to him explain about this facility. A few minutes later, he stops in front of a door with a coded lock. He keys in the code and we enter what appears to be a laboratory. 

He gestures to an observation window. "See for yourself." 

I guess I should have been paying attention, but I really have no interest in anything right now. Feigning interest, I step up to peer through the incredibly thick Plexiglas. All thoughts of my family flee, and my mind tries desperately to make sense of what I'm seeing. "What the fuck is that thing?" 

"The point of all our work, Mr. Krycek." His tone is cold. 

I watch the creature in the observation room, my mind cycling on one thought: I can't believe Mulder is right about all this shit. 

After long moments of stunned gaping, I turn my attention to the man and try to focus on what he's saying. As he talks I realize I feel something... something I can't quite define. 

I'm still trying to process the strange emotion when he leads me to an empty conference room. "Our mutual friend will be along." 

Carefully considering what to say, I reply, "I take it he doesn't know I met with you?" 

"No. He does not. I like to keep up with what he's doing. He doesn't always report everything. A most annoying habit. It's unlikely he will want you to be seen by me or some of the other members, as you would be recognized by many." With that, he turns and leaves. It wasn't exactly an answer, but I see no reason to mention any of this to Spender. 

I guess Morgan both works for and spies on Spender. Interesting. I'll have to ask him about it one day. 

Lost in thought, I'm not sure how much time passes before Spender erupts into the room, yelling, "Years of training and you can't manage to preserve your cover for a couple weeks with Mulder?" 

I just lean back and watch him. 

"Were you, or were you not, clear on your primary objective?" 

"Quite clear," I calmly reply. 

He seems to get angrier and abruptly gestures me out of the room. I wonder if there's a firing squad on the other side of the door. 

Spender's movements are stilted, fingers moving jerkily to his mouth with the ever-present cigarette. This cannot all be about me. 

I follow him through another series of corridors, then down a couple floors to a medical facility. He enters a room that looks like a large hospital ward. There are about 20 people in beds. None of them appear to be conscious. 

Spender stalks over to one bed and lifts the chart. I recognize the occupant. Dana Scully. My mind flashes to Walter's face when he heard she was missing. 

I clear my throat and, in a neutral tone, ask, "What are you doing with her?" 

He turns to glare at me. "I hardly think you're in a position to ask questions." 

Unable to stop myself, I snap, "Have I ever been?" 

He looks like a man sucking on a lemon. "You're of little use anymore. Perhaps we should volunteer you for these tests." 

I shrug, disinterested in his mind games. But I am curious what he means by 'tests.' "What will you do with her when your tests are finished?" 

Now calm, he looks down at the chart. "If you're still alive, I may have you kill her." 

Damn. I keep my voice even. "That doesn't seem like a very good idea. Mulder will be harder to control if anything happens to her. Possibly Skinner as well, if he suspects your involvement in her abduction." 

Spender slaps the chart down. "Your judgment, especially with regard to Agent Mulder, is questionable, and I am not interested in your opinions." He stalks off, obviously expecting me to follow. But I saw a flicker of something in his eyes... maybe he'll leave Scully alive--return her to Mulder and Skinner. 

And why should I care about that? My time with Walter Skinner has distorted my perspective. This is what I needed... the end of our relationship, so I can get back to normal. And yet, I feel as if I've made a huge mistake, but I'm not sure when. 

I follow Spender, thinking I'd rather feel nothing than this constant ache and annoying sense of wrongness. 

* * *

September 1994 

I reviewed Krycek's training record from Quantico. It looks like someone greased his way into Violent Crimes, even into the Academy. His psyche profile was especially suspicious. 

Gjersee and Mallory interviewed a former lover of Agent Krycek's. A man who recognized a security photo of Mr. Smith. Said he'd seen Alex with him on a couple of occasions. 

I signed an arrest warrant for the former agent. And stopped following the investigation. 

Never hearing any rumors about me or receiving any reprimands, I assumed that Gjersee and Mallory didn't share the information about me. It wasn't in their final report. 

Sometimes, lying in bed at night, I think of Alex and wonder. Remembering his face contorted with pleasure. 'I need you,' he said that last night. Was it real? But during the light of day I'm certain I'm just deluding myself. 

Sharon suggested a separation and I moved out. Just to get out quickly, I rented a townhouse in Alexandria. I miss the little bastard, but it is easier to miss him alone. 

I miss Sharon, too. Especially the one from our early days together. In spite of the way I shut her out, she was the only person I could really talk to. 

Sharon used to tell me I had to learn to listen to my heart. I dismissed the advice as pop psychology at the time. But a month after Alex's disappearance, I remember. 

My heart tells me that much of what happened between Alex and me was real, but it will only hurt me more to listen. 

End 

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12 April 2002   
If you haven't sent feedback already, consider all the hours it took to create this story and spend a few minutes to tell us why you enjoyed it. Thanks! Zoe Takashi & Louise Wu () () For more information about method slash writing, or to see our other stories: http://lzl.dreamhost.com/ 

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If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Zoe Takashi and Louise Wu 


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